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Mrs. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS 

COMPLETE IN FORTY-THREE VOLUMES. 

EACH IS IN ONE LARGE DUODECIMO VOLUME, CLOTH, GILT, AT $1.75 EACH, OR $75.25 A SET^ 

Copies of aiiy one or all will be sent to any one, post-paid, on receipt of remittances. 

The excellencies of the works writte^i by Mrs. Southworth are many\ 
and great. For the brillia^icy and point of her conversations, the ease and~ 
spirit of her na^-rative, the splendid a7id graphic character of her descrip- 
tions of natural scenery, and the general power, geniius and originality of 
her conceptions, she occupies a froiit rank a^nong all W7'iters of fictio7i. 1 
The 7norals of her stories a7'e excellent — calculated to do good to all readers, I 
while they are inte7tsely i7tteresti7ig. M7's. Southworth 77ia7iifests wo7iderful 
power in the vivid depicthig of cha7'-acter, and in her mteresting descrip- 
tions of sce7ie7y, for heT: characte7's are 7iot 77ierely na77ies, but existences : 
they live a7id 77iove before tis, each actmg i7i accorda77ce with their peculiar 
7iature. There is no lady writer m this cou7itry, who, in the exercise of a 
saluia7y mfuence on do7nestic cha7'acter, has writte7t so 77iuch a7id so well, 
or who is so richly descTwmg the ad77iiratio7i of the general reader, for the 
pe7'usal of her works will have the effect to 7nake their readers less selfish, 
more sacrifici7ig, 7iobler, better, a7if in 07ie word, 77iore truly Christia7i, 
a7id for this reason, alotie, her works should be sought with avidity. Her 
last a7id great work, “Self-Made; or. Out of the Depths^' has just been 
issued i7i two volu77ies, tmder the 7ia77ies of “Islwiael ; or. In the Depths 
a7id “Self-Raised ; or, F7^o7n the Depths,'^ and are havmg a7i i7n77ie7ise 
sale a7id popula7'ity, the first of which contains a 7iew portrait of Mrs. 
Souilmorth, the other a view of her Cottage, 07i the Poto77iac, with its 
su7T0U7idi7igs, either of which, alo7ie, is worth the price of the book. 

7iew editio7i of M7's. Southwo7’th' s works is just ready m duodecimo 
fo7'ni, co77iplete in 43 volimes, a7id each volu77ie is boimd in 77iorocco cloth, 
with a full gilt back, a7id is sold at $ 1 .^^ a vohmie, or 2 ^ for a co77iplete 
set, put 7ip i7i. a 7ieat box. Eve7y Fa77iily, a7id every Library m this Coun- 
try, should have m it a set of this 7iew a7id beautiful edition of the wo7ps 
of this tale7ited A7}ierica7i Authoress, Mrs. Enmia D. E. N. Southworth. 

Copies of afiy one wo7'k, or more, or a co77iplete set of “Mrs. 
SouthwortF s Works,’’ will be se7it to afiy one, to afiy address, at 07 ice,free 
of freight or postage, 07i re77iitti7ig ^ 1.75 for each 07ie wa7tted, to the 
Fublishe7's, T. B. Peterso7i 6 ^ B7'others, Philadelphia, Pa. 

J^rA co77iplete list of all of Mrs. Southworth’ s works will be sent to 
a7iy 07ie, post-paid, 07i their sending for it to the Publishers. 

Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,* Philadelphia, Pa. 




PAOB 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 1. 

LADY ETHERIDGE 21 

CHAPTER 11. 

THE TRAITOR.. 82 

CHAPTER III. 

THE FALSE LOVER 49 

CHAPTER IV. 

NURSE ELMER’S CONFESSION 58 

CHAPTER V. 

THE TEST OF TRUE LOVE 13 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE LAST TRIAL 83 

CHAPTER YII. 

ROSE 94 

CHAPTER YIII. 

VILLANOUS COUNSEL 100 

CHAPTER IX. 

A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT 103 

CHAPTER X. 

THE NEW BARONESS 112 

CHAPTER XL 

A CHANGE OF POSITION 129 

CHAPTER Xir. 

THE GOVERNESS 136 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MYSTERIOUS COMPANION 149 

CHAPTER XIY. 

R: ll\ E MYSTERIES HC 

CHAPTER XY. 

IHE DUCHESS OF BERESLEIGH 186 

CHAPTER XYl. 

THE RISING STAR 193 


19 


20 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XVII. ' 

MORE MYSTERIES 208 

CHAPTER XVIIL 

MORE CONSPIRACIES 218 

chapter' XIX. 

THE MASKED BREAKFAST AND PROMENADE 2*211 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE AMBUSH 230 

CHAPTER XXL 

SECOND LOVE 2 62 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE INTRIGUER FOILED 270 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE INTERRUPTED DECLARATION 285 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE MIDNIGHT ALARM 292 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE FATAL EVIDENCE 299 

CHAPTER XXVL 

THE NOCTURNAL VISITOR 306 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE DUCHESS OF BERESLEIGH AT HOME 321 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE wife’s CONFESSION 331 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE INDICTMENT OF THE YOUNG DUCHESS 345 

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE PRISON CELL, 349 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A STRANGE SCENE IN NEWGATE 359 

CHAPTER XXXII. . 

TRIAL FOR LIFE 369 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE FATE OF THE POISONER 393 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE LAST HOURS IN THE CONDEMNED CELL 414 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE CHAMBER OF REST : 43*1 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


CHAPTER I 


LADY ETHERIDGE. 




That a lady lived, with no other thought, 

\ But to love and be loved by thee . — Edgar A. Poe. 


It was many and many a year ago,<— > 
In a castle by the sea. 


It was the first year of the present century — ere yet steam- 
ships, railways, gaslight, insurance companies, telegraphic 
wires, and detective policemen, had expelled nearly all pos- 
sibility of vicissitude, peril, and adventure from civilized 
society. 

It was while 'clum.sy sailing vessels were the only means 
of ocean travel, and heavy stage coaches lumbered slowly 
along every ])ublic road in the country; it was while foot- 
pads still lurked in the shadows of the city streets, to start 
forth upon the belated pedestrian, and highwaymen, under 
the veil of night, sprang out to commit their lawless depreda- 
tions upon the unguarded traveller; while the spirit of ro- 
mance hovered around old buildings, and superstition lingered 
in secluded neighborhoods, that the strange events of our story 
transpired. 

It was early in the morning of a lovely day in June that a 
rather large group of idlers gaihered in front of the Etheridge 
Arms, a (piaint old tavern in the ancient little town of Swin- 
burne, situated in one of the most picturesque and beautiful 
counties in the of England. 


21 


22 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


They were standing within the arched gateway, or leaning 
against the solid masonry of the side walls, that looked strong 
enough and old enough to have been those of some ancient 
keep, and which, in fact, had done good service as defences,' 
in the olden time, when might made right, and every man’s 
house was indeed his castle. 

By their looks and conversation it was evident that some 
event of unusual importance was expected to come off. 

“ The coach will be late ; what wull be keeping her V' in- 
quired Broding, the village smith, as he returned, disap- 
pointed, from one of these surveys. “What do’ee think; 
wull the bridegroom be doon for sure ?” he asked, turning to 
an ostler, who had left the stable-yard for the same purpose. 

“ Wull the young squoir be doon ? Of course he wull ! 
Dunnot he send down his groom to speak rooms in the house, 
with orders to have fires kindled ? Why, mun, the young 
^squoii wull never be late at such a time,” replied the ostler, 
in contemptuous tones. 

“A good job if un never coorn at all. The loikes of yon 
cooining to marry our lady, and lord it over our castle. 
When wur it ever known that a Lord Etheridge, of Swin- 
burne, married wi’ a commiiner? But we’ve ay heard tell 
that a house is done fur when it falls to the distaff,” said an 
old laborer, from Swinburne Chase. 

“ I’ll tcll’ee all what and about it. Old Hastings, the 
teyther o’ this young man, was his late ludship’s friend, and 
were left gnardeen by his late ludship’s will to this young 
lady. Well, old Hastings was a knowing ’un, and made the 
match. There’s whore it is ; and so they’re to be married 
to-morrow.” 

“ Hoigh ! Harken ! Coome along wi’ I ; here’s the coach,” 
uddenly interrupted the smith, starting from the archway 
into the street, just as the horn was heard signalling the ap- 
proach of the Bristol coach, that presently rumbled down the 
street, and drew up with great noise before the tavern gate. 

All the servants of the house and yard rushed out to re- 
ceive it, jostling against each other, choking up the avenues 
and creating much annoying confusion. 

“Now, good people, room, here, room I You are in the 


THE BRIDAL EVE. ^ 23 

way!” exclaimed the landlord, dispersing the idlers, and issu- 
ing forth in person to receive the passengers. 

First came from the interior of the coach an elderly gentle- 
man, whose tall, spare, and stooping figure was clothed in a 
suit of clerical black, and whoso pale, thin, long face was sur- 
rounded by hair and whiskers prematurely gray. lie waa 
closely attended by a young man, whose Roman features, 
olive complexion, jet black hair, and deep, dark eyes, bespoke 
him of the Cidtic race, while his plain dress and subordinate 
position could not disguise the grace and dignity of his aii 
and manner. In this last he was such a contrast to his em- 
ployer that he might have been taken for a prince of the 
blood, attended by an old gentleman in waiting. 

“I say, Eroding, yon’s old Hastings and his secretary*. 
I’ve seen un before doon here,” said the old laborer, address- 
ing the smith, as these two travellers issued from the coach, 
and passed before the bowing and smirking host into th» 
house. 

Next came forth a young gentleman, whose handsome per- 
son and haughty manner at once attracted general attention. 
Ilis form was tall, and finely pro})ortioned, crowned by a 
haughty head and face, with high aquiline features, fair and 
fresh complexion, light blue ey*es, and very light flaxen hair. 
Ilis expression of countenance, in keeping with his whole 
manner, w^as stern almost to repellant severity. Great 
beaut V of person, with great dignity of manner, forms a 
combination very attractive to most young women, and per- 
haps it was this that fascinated the young heiress of Swin- 
burne Castle, for this was Albert Hastings, the bridegroom 
elect. He w'os follow*ed into the house by his valet bearing 
his dressing-case. 

Colonel Hastings was immediately shown into his private 
parlor, Avhere he was spoil joined by his son. 

The landlord stP^d bowing at the door, and waiting for 
orders. 

“ Ib’eakfast, immediately, and the post-chaise at the doc 
in half an hour,” was the brief order of Colonel Hastings. 

“ Yes, you” honor. What would your honor like foi 
breakfast ?” 


24 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“Ai)v thing that is at hand, only be quick.” 

“ Black tea, toast, broiled ham and eggs, and ” 

“Yes, yes; and any thing else you like, only let us have 
’t now,” replied the guest, cutting short the bill of fare vith 
a look and a gesture which seemed to transfix the garrulous 
Host and strike him dumb. 

The landlord bowed and disappeared, and was soon suc- 
ceeded by the head- waiter, who came in and laid the cloth 
ind spread upon the board a substantial breakfast, to which 
the hungry travellers did ample justice. 

They had scarcely finished the meal before the post-chaise 
vas announced. 

The elder Hastings arose, saying — 

“Albert, my boy, I am sorry that etiquette does not admit 
of your waiting upon your belle rnaitresse to-day, or seeing 
her until you meet her at the church. But a a re voir until 
to-morrow, at twelve.” 

“ You will, at least, sir, convey my profoundest regards to 
my fair bride, and my deepest regret that she cannot receive 
me also to-day,” said Albert Hastings. 

“ Oh, ay, certainly ; that is understood. Indeed, I doubt 
her ladyship would deign to be seen even by me, her old 
guardian, where it not that certain documents, relative to the 
transfer of my trust, require her signature to-day. I hope 
you will manage to make yourself comfortable here for a day 
and night. Make Levere see that your room is well aired, 
Good-bye. Come, Cassinove.” 

And with this abrupt leave-taking the elder Hastings, 
attended by his secretary, left the house, and entered the 
post-chase to drive to Swinburne Castle. 

Their way lay through the principa' street of the village, 
between long, irregular rows of antiquated houses, some of 
them dating back many hundred years, while here and there 
n smart modern building, or a highly ornate shop, hinted that 
the spirit of improvement had found out even Swinburne. 

The young secretary, a denizen of the city, gazed upon 
this ancient feudal village with strange interest. 

“ You seem to be in a most contemplative frame of mind, 
this 'uorning, Cassinove,” said Colonel Hastings. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


25 


“ I am thinking^ of the changes th;tt centuries have made 
in tlie living and dying world of man, while these works of 
his hands, these senseless stones, remain forever the same,” 
replied the young man, gravely. 

“Yes; the times have changed since six centuries ago 
when the forefathers of this village Avere the horn vassals (d 
tlie lords of Swinburne ; when, if a Baron Etheridge coveted 
the possessions of a poorer neighbor, he had only to take it, 
and settle the claim of the other by knocking Iiim on the head. 
‘ Tlie glory of Ichabod has departed I’ ” replied the elder man, 
musingly. 

“ Surely, sir, you cannot regret that such a dangerous gift 
as irresponsible power has passed out of their possession,” 
observed the younger. 

“Nay; I regret nothing, except that Lady Etheridge, of 
Swinburne, cannot add to her park that fine place at Elm- 
wood, because, forsooth, the upstart fellow that owns it will 
not sell it for any sum that a sane man would pay.” 

They now turned the corner of the village street, and came 
full upon the beautiful country-road that bounded Swinburne 
Chase on the south. The low stone wall on their left hand 
did not quite shut out the view of the charming scenery of 
the chase, with its sunny hills, shady groves, winding streams, 
and groups of fallow deer. Far as the eye could rove, over 
green hills and wooded dales, the land was all the estates of 
Lady Etheridge, of Swinburne. 

A drive of more than a mile brought them to Swinburne- 
park church, an ancient, ivy-covered Gothic edifice, coeval 
with the castle itself, and, like the castle, celebrated in his- 
tory, in .story, and in song. There rested the remains, and 
l In-re lay. the elfigies of the cld Barons of Swinburne, from the 
time of the Conquest down to the death of* the last Lord 
Fiheridge, who had died five years before, leaving his on'y 
•laiiLi-hter, Laura, sole heiress of all his vast possessions. 
Vming Cassinove gazed with deep interest upon this gray 
old chuich, until Colonel Hastings recalled his attention by 
saying : 

“Come, Cassinove, we have no time for antiquities. Our 
business is not with the past, but with the future.” 


26 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


They drove rapidly on, for yet another mile, along the 
boundary of the chase, and suddenly came upon a thicket of 
trees, from the midst of which frowned the ruins of tlie ancient 
keep, its solid masonry now covered thickly with ivy. Young 
Cassinove, who felt a deep interest in all these scenes, would 
have paused to contemplate this venerable ruin, but again ihe 
impatience of his employer urged the postillion to greater 
speed, and they drove hurriedly past. A few yards further 
on they reached the south gate of the park, guarded by the 
ancient porter’s lodge. 

They passed under the lofty archway, and entered upon 
the beautiful grounds that lay more immediately around the 
castle. 

Swinburne Castle was of later date than the ancient keep, 
the ruins of which they had just passed, and from which it 
took its name. The building was a double quadrangle, in 
the form of the letter H, and having towers at the four 
extremities. 

Behind the castle arose the thick, impenetrable woods bor- 
dering the open chase ; before it lay a smiling landscape, 
diversified by parterres of flowers, groves of beautiful trees, 
and a small, clear lake, shaded by overhanging willows, and 
adorned by a flock of graceful white swans. 

An exclamation of delight broke from the lips of Cassin- 
ove as his eyes fell upon this scene of exceeding beauty, now 
lighted up as it was by the glorious sun of June. 

They drew up before the central transept that connected 
the two long wings of the castle. 

Two grooms, in waiting without, immediately came for- 
ward to attend Colonel Hastings, who alighted, followed by 
his secretary. One of the groom’s dismissed the post-chaise, 
while the other knocked at the door, which was immediately 
opened by a footman in the gray and white livery of Lady 
Etheridge, of Swinburne. 

“ Show me into the library, Williams, and let her ladvship 
know that I await her convenience. Cassinove, my good 
fellow, you can stay here, I suppose, until you are wanted,” 
said Colonel Hastings, opening a door on his right to admit 
the young secretary into a sitting-room, and then going on, 
attended bv the footman, to the library. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 27 

IIow often we meet our fate without an instant’s forewarn- 
inc: ! 

The apartments into which young Cassinove had been 
shown was a pleasant, cheerful morning room, simply but 
elegantly furnished. The great front window, reaching from 
ceiling to floor, and from side to side, commanded an exten- 
sive view of the lawn, with its groves of trees, its shaded 
lake, and its parterres of flowers. A rosery outside the win- 
dow adorned the frame, without obstructing the view of this 
grand picture. At the opposite end of this room was a 
spacious mirror, that filled up all that part of the wall, and 
reflected the whole of the landscape commanded by the 
window. 

Cassinove paced thoughtfully about this apartment, paus- 
ing sometimes at the window to gaze upon the beautiful 
scenery of the lawn, and standing sometimes before the mir- 
ror to admire the poetic taste that had placed this glass just 
were it duplicated the world of beauty without. 

While he stood before the mirror, enjoying the reflected 
landscape, suddenly among the roses glided a purple-draped 
female figure, that immediately rivetted his attention. It was 
a woman in the earliest bloom of youth. She was not techni- 
cally pretty. She would not have been considered so by any 
superficial observer ; but the faces that inspire deep and last- 
ing passions in great souls are not those of wax dolls. As 
young Cassinove gazed upon her reflected image, as he never 
gazed upon her, he felt as though a goddess had suddenly de- 
scended among the flowers. Her form was above the medium 
height, and well rounded. Her head was finely formed, and 
covered with a profusion of jet black, glittering hair, that was 
plainly parted over her broad, expansive forehead, and swept 
around the temples, and wound into a rich and massive knot 
kt the back of the head. Her eyes were large, luminous, dark 
gray orbs, that seemed, whenever the long veil of lashes was 
lifted, to throw a light wherever they glanced. Her nose was 
straight and well formed, her lips rounded, and, like all the 
rest, full of character. In the carriage of her head and neck, 
and in her stately footsteps, there was a certain natural 
majesty that, even in a peasant’s dress, would have proved 
her one of Nature’s queens. 


28 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


The impression made upon the enthusiastic heart of Ferdi- 
nand Cassinove was at once vivid, deep, and strong — quick 
as sun-painting, permanent as sculpture. He saw this god- 
dess of the intellectual brow and stately step open the window 
and advanc • into the room, and as she approached him he 
felt his whole frame thrill with a strange emotion of blended 
pain and delight. He dreaded to move, yet, as the needle 
turns to the magnet, he felt himself turning from the reflected 
image to face the original. He stood before that queenly form, 
and met those large, luminous, dark eyes fixed upon him in 
royal graciousness, as she said — 

“ You are Colonel Hastings’s secretary, I believe, sir. Pray 
sit down. You will find the London papers on that table.” 
And, with a graceful bow, the lady passed him, and seated 
herself on a sofa at the extremity of the room, took up a port- 
folio, and was soon deeply engaged with its contents. 

After the profound bow with which he had returned hei 
courtesy, Ferdinand Cassinove remained motionless where she 
had left him. But ten minutes had elapsed since she had 
glided in among the flowers, and passed him like a vision 
seen in some beautiful dream. But ten minutes, and life, the 
world, himself, were all changed for Ferdinand Cassinove. 
He felt, from that moment, that his fate must take its character 
for good or evil from the will of that royal-looking woman. 

Infatuated youth I Could he have foreseen the long and 
terrible agony which that goddess-like being had been ordained 
to suffer, and which was soon to burst upon her imperial head, 
he would, in the ungovernable passion of his wild, Italian 
nature, have struck her dead at his feet, and gladly died for 
having saved her from such unspeakable woe. 

Who was she ? What was she ? 

He had heard that Lady Etheridge had a young friend. 
Miss Dornton, staying with her, to act as her first attendant 
at the approaching marriage. This, then, was Miss Dornton. 
And who was Ferdinand Cassinove, that he dared to occupy 
his thoughts with Miss Dornton? A young man of obscure 
origin, left to the benevolent guardianship of Colonel Hast- 
ings, who had defrayed the expenses of his education at school 
and college, and afterwards taken him into his family as his 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


29 


])rivate secretary. Yet all of Italy’s genius, passion, and 
poetry smouldered in the heart of the young secretary, and 
these were kindled into a sudden blaze by the electric spark 
of love. 

Miss Dornton ! a lady of rank, and, perhaps, of fortune I 
Oh, if she were not already wooed and won ! Give him time, 
and, under the inspiration of his love for her, he would win 
wealth, distinction, a glorious name, and lay them all at her 
feet. If this passion was sudden as it was ardent, remember 
that Ferdinand Cassinove was of the Celtic race. Yes; he 
would win the world, and lay it at her feet ! 

In the midst of the pleasing pain of this love-dream the 
door opened, and the gray-haired servant whom Ferdinand 
had seen in the hall entered softly, and stepping across the 
room to where the lady sat, and speaking in the low, subdued 
tone in which royal personages are addressed, said — 

“ My lady, Colonel Hastings’s respects, and he awaits your 
ladyship in the library.” 

“A"ery well, Williams; go and say to Colonel Hastings 
that I will attend him immediately,” answered the lady 
rising. 

This queenly woman, then, was Laura, Baroness Etheridge 
of Swinburne ! Forever and forever unattainable by him I 
Oh, despair ! His castle in the air tumbled all about him, 
and buried all his hopes and aspirations in its fall. While 
still stunned by the discovery he had made, the old servant 
approached him, and said — 

“You, also, sir, are wanted,” and left the room to precede 
his lady in the library. 

Lad} Etheridge passed on with her stately step and gia 
cious smile, and young Cassinove followed like a man in a 
state of painful somnambulency. 

They crossed the great hall to the library, which was 
situated on the same floor. It was a great, antique apart- 
ment, richly furnished, and stored with the literature of all 
lands and ages, and adorned with the portraits of such of the 
old barons of Swinburne as had been distinguished in the 
councils- or the battles of their nation. At a writing-table 
near the centre sat Colonel Hastings, who arose with the 


80 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Stately courtesy of the olden time, and set a chair for his 
ward. 

Lady Etheridge, after greeting her guardian cordially, took 
the indicated seat. 

The old servant retired. 

Ferdinand Cassinove withdrew to a distant Gothic window 
of stained glass, and stood apparently studying its scriptural 
subjects, but really, wdth senses preternaturally sharpened by 
the excitement of his heart and brain, compelled to hear and 
see all that passed at that central table. 

There they sat, the guardian and his \vard, in close dis- 
cussion. The guardian, with his tall, spare figure, and thin, 
pale face, in marked contrast with his solemn suit of black, 
sat examining a document that lay before him. Lady Ether- 
idge, in the purple satin robe that so well became her superb 
figure, sat opposite, with her arm carelessly resting upon the 
table, and her fine face raised, with an expression of joy 
irradiating her countenance. 

“ But, my dear Laura,” said Colonel Hastings, with a look 
compounded of pleasure and perplexity, “this noble liberality, 
I must say, places us in a very delicate position. I am your 
guardian ; your intended husband is my son. The calum- 
nious world already charges me with having made the match 
between my son and my wmalthy w^ard. And now. Lady 
Etheridge, should you persist in your generous confidence, 
and execute the deed of gift of this whole magnificent estate 
to your intended husband, and he should accept it, what, 
then, would the world say ?” 

“Just what it likes, my dear guardian. I am of age and 
have the right to do what I please with my own. I please 
to bestow it all, not only in effect, but in reality, upon my 
husband,” she replied, with a beaming smile. 

“ But, Lady Etheridge, I do not know that you, the last 
baroness of the ancient house of Swinburne, have the 7'igJii 
to transfer the Castle of Swinburne, with its vast dependence^ 
to an alien.” 

“ An alien ! Ho you call my husband an alien ?” 

“ He is not of your blood.” 

“He is more. He is of my heart, and soul, and spirit, as 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


81 


I. am of his. Oh, Colonel Hastings ! there can be no ques- 
tion of mine and thine between me and Albert. The deed 
of gift that transfers all my possessions to my future husbana 
is made out ; let it be executed. lie shall then never be 
jealous of his wife’s riches, for she will come to him as ])oor 
as a cottage-girl,” exclaimed Lady Etheridge, with a pure 
devotion of love flushing her cheek and lighting her eyes. 

“But, I repeat, I do not know that you have the right to 
transfer this estate, even to your husband,” demurred Colonel 
Hastings, who, however, did not seem really unwilling to 
accept the sacrifice. 

“ And I repeat I have the right. The estate is not en- 
tailed.” 

“ Lady Etheridge, I spoke not of legal, but of moral and 
social right. Bethink you ; it is a vast and ancient estate, 
with a historical name and fame, transmitted to you by a 
long line of ancestors.” 

“I tell you. Colonel Hastings, that ancient and vast as it 
is, with the historical celebrity that it boasts, handed down 
to me by a long line of illustrious barons, as it has been, I,- 
the last Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, value all this not 
' one straw, except as I may bestow it upon my husband,” 
replied the lady, every feature of her eloquent face beaming 
with the truth and fervor of her words. 

“ Lady Etheridge, are you resolved upon this transfer ?” 

“Immutably.” 

“Then you must have your will. Cassinove, come hither, 
if you please. Your signature is wanted, as witness to a 
deed.” 

Young Cassinove started. He had heard all that had 
passed ; thinking — feeling — Oh, heavens ! how this woman 
can love — this woman whom I could worship, nay, whom I 
do and shall worship as the guiding star of my life, as long 
as I shall live. Oh, that the man who is blessed with her 
love may be worthy of her ! And oh, that I had the old 
Pagan privilege of opening the gates of life, and escaping ita 
tortures ! He obeyed Colonel Hastings’s summons, and went 
up to the table, where he was presented to Lady Etheridge, 
as — 


82 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“My secretary, Mr. Cassinove, your ladyship.” 

“ I have seen Mr. Cassinove before,” said the lady, kindl} 
holding out her hand. 

He barely touched the white hand as he bent before her. 
Ilis own turned cold as ice. 

“Now, then, Lady Etheridge,” exclaimed Colonel Hastings^ 
spreading obt the document before her. 

And the business of signing and witnessing the deed was 
completed. 

Colonel Hastings and his secretary then took leave, and 
left the castle to return to the Etheridge Arms, whither w< 
must precede them by a few hours. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE TRAITOR. 

Her lot 18 on you — woman’s lot— 

Still to make idols, and to find them clay, 

And weep that wasted worship — therefore pray! — Hemana. 

Colonel Hastings had scarcely left the room ere Mr. 
Albert Hastings arose, stretched himself with a weary yawn, 
and began to pace thoughtfully up and down the floor, mur* 
muring — 

“ Men think me a very fortunate and happy man ; and, 
doubtless, an unusual number of good gifts have been show- 
ered upon me by the favor of the blind goddess — not the least 
among them would be esteemed the hand of this wealthy 
young baroness, my bride expectant. Well, we cannot have 
every thing we want in this world, else sweet Rose Elmer 
only should be the wife of Albert Hastings. Poor girl 1 she 
little dreams that the man who has wooed her, under the 
name of William Lovel, is really Albert Hastings, the envied 
bridegroom of the high-born Lady Etheridge of Swinburne. 
It cannot be helped. I cannot pause for lady’s right, oi 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


83 


tniiiden^s honor. Here, then, for a divided life ; my hand tc 
tl.e lady of Swinburne — my heart to the lovely cottage-girl ; 
only Lady Etheridge must never know of Rose Elmer and 
V/illiam Lovel, nor must Rose Elmer know Lady Etheridge 
and Albert Hastings. And now to persuade Rose to go be- 
fore me into Wales, where myself and my lady-bride are to 
spend our honeymoon.” 

And so saying, Albert Hastings took his hat, and strolled 
out into the street. Walking in an opposite direction to that 
tsiKen by Colonel Hastings in his drive to Swinburne Castle, 
Albert Hastings soon reached a cross country-road, which he 
pursued for about two miles. Then, turning to the left, he 
entered a narrow, shady lane, that led him to a small, secluded 
cottage, nearly hidden from sight amid climbing vines, clus- 
tering slii’ubs, and overhanging trees. Taking a key from 
his pocket, he unlocked the little green wooden gate, and 
passing between tall, flowering shrubs, he stepped under the 
vine-shaded porch, and applying a second key, opened the 
cottage door, and entered at once upon the only large room 
the cottage could boast. This room was fitted up with a 
simple elegance in strange contrast to its humble character. 
The rude walls were covered with a delicate paper of a silvery 
vrh'te'ground, and with running roses over it. The floor was 
hidden under a neat carpet of a corresponding pattern. The 
windows, sofa, chairs, and footstools were all covered and 
draped with white lace over pink damask. A rosewood 
piano of exquisite workmanship stood on one side of the 
room ; a chilfonnier of the same material, with a small but 
clioice collection of books, stood on the opposite side. Upon 
a rosewood table in the centre lay several richlj^-bound folios 
of rare and valuable prints. Over the chimney-piece hung a 
mirror that gave back the reflection of the whole pretty room, 
which was in all respects fitted up as a lady’s boudoir. 

"i'his lonely cottage had been rented and furnished by 
Albert Hastings as a*trysting-place for his love. The whole 
air of the room was couleur de rose. He called it “The 
Rower erf Roses.” It was., indeed, the bower of one peerless 
rose. Here he had been 'accustomed, during his visits to tlie 
ii'^ighborhood of his affianced bride, to meet the Rose of his 
2 


34 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


secret thoughts But here, also, let it be clearly understood, 
he had respected the honor of the humble maiden — not upon 
any good principle, perhaps ; but loving her with all the 
power of his selfish heart, and resolved upon making her his 
own forever, he abstained from any freedom that might alarm 
her delicacy, and, perhaps, estrange her heart. 

Albert Hastings, the only son of Colonel Hastings, of 
Hastings Hall, Devon, and of Portman-square, London, had 
been endowed by nature with many other good gifts, besides 
his pre-eminently handsome and princely person. He had a 
good head, and originally a good heart ; but he had been 
spoiled from his youth up, in being led to believe that the 
whole world, and all within it, had been created for his own 
private use — or abuse, if he pleased. And if this selfish creed 
were not now' fully credited, it was, at least, thoroughly car- 
ried out in his practice — a thing that cannot often be said of 
better creeds, or even better men. 

A,lbert Hastings had ahvays been designed by his father to 
be the husband of the wealthy young baroness, his wmrd. 
The crafty old man had taken care not to bring the young 
people together in any manner during their childhood, lest 
they should grow up as brother and sister, without thought 
of a dearer relationship. He had contented himself w-itli^ 
secluding the young baroness from other youthful com])any. 
He had fixed her permanent residence in the deep retirement 
of Swinburne Castle, where she remained, year after year, 
under the care of a distant female relative, Mrs. Montgomery, 
the widow of a clergyman. 

There she w^as attended by various deeply-learned masters 
and highly accomplished mistresses, all very discreet and 
elderly, wdio had been sent dowm by Colonel Hastings to 
carry on her education. At the age of eighteen she first met 
Albert Hastings. It had been planned that she should spend 
a year in making the tour of the Continent, in company wdth 
her guardian and his son, wdiose travels'were delayed for this 
purpo&3. It w’as but a few’- days before the intended de- 
parture, while the heart of the young heiress was elated w’ith- 
the prospect of seeing foreign countries, that Albert Hastings 
w’is introduced to her. His hands/:me person, dignified 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


35 


presence, and fascinatinp^ manners, made some impression 
upon the imagination of the secluded young baroness. During 
their subsequent travels over the Continent, his well-cultivated 
mind, various accomplishments, and brilliant conversational 
powers so deepened this impression, that the youthful Lad} 
Etheridge thought she had met the man of men, the only on 
in the world to whom it was possible to give her own heatt, 
and when the expected avowal of love and offer of marriage 
came, Laura Etheridge trembled at the thought of a happi- 
ness too rich for her merits — almost too perfect for this world. 
Albert Hastings was deeply enamored of the Baroness Ether- 
idge of Swinburne and her vast possessions ; but apart from 
those, how much did he really care for the young girl, Lnura? 

They returned home to prepare for the marriage, which 
was to take place at Swinburne Castle. 

The Hastings fixed their residence at their town-house, but 
frequently came down to Swinburne, the guardian to see his 
ward, the young gentleman to visit his bride elect. 

It was during one of these visits to the neighborhood, 
while he was staying at the Etheridge Arms, that Albert 
Hastings first saw Rose Ellmer. Levere, his valet, had sent 
his master’s linen to a laundress, and it had been brought 
homo by Rose. 

She was a fair and delicate beauty, small and exquisitely 
formed, with regular features, and a snowy complexion, faintly 
tinted with a roseate bloom upon the rounded cheeks and 
plump little lips, and a profusion of pale golden hair parted 
and waved off in ripi)ling tresses from a forehead of infantine 
whiteness and smoothness. Unlike those of the girls of her 
class, her hands and arms were beautifully formed, and her 
feet were small and elegantly turned. A simple straw bonnet 
shaded her sweet face, a plain dress of cheap blue gingham 
fitted perfectly her faultless figure, and a white muslin mantle 
was worn with simple grace. Her voice was soft and Iunv, 
Ihu* manner quiet and self-possessed. Altogether her appear- 
ance, desi)ite her humble garb and menial office, was fault- 
lessly lady-like. 

Her beauty fascinated Albert Hastings. He secretly dis- 
covered ]| er dwelling— a poor cottage, in a narrow, unsightly 


36 


THE B K I D A L EVE. 


Street of the villaj^e— and he made an excuse to call there and 
settle his laundress’s hill. This was the cominencemenl of 
tluMr acquaintance. Afterwards he contrived frequently to 
meet Rose in her daily errands throup^h the village, and, 
when no eye was near to spy his motions, he would join her 
in her walks. He found her mind as lovely as her person, 
and in the course of a few days he, the affianced hushatid of 
the high-born Lady Etheridge, of Swinburne, found himself 
dee])ly, passionately in love with the humble Rose Elmer, the 
ilaughter of the village laundress. He even sometimes 
dreamed of the possibility of foregoing his splendid alliance 
with the heiress of Swinburne castle and of making Rose 
Elmer his wife ; but the s})irit of ambition was too strong 
within him. As usual with men, he deceived himself as to 
his motive, and said that a sense of honor prevented him from 
breaking with Lady Etheridge, though, strangely enough, 
that sense of honor did not hinder him from seeking the love 
of a poor village-maiden. Day by day his passion for the 
sweet Rose grew. Every hour not spent in the society of his 
promised bride was devoted to her. At last, fearing dis- 
covery, no less for himself than for the maiden whom his false 
love imperilled, he cast about for some means of meeting her 
in secrecy and safety. 

Through the help of a confidential servant and a city agent, 
he hired and furnished that obscure cottage in the wood, and 
one day, meeting Rose, he invited her for a walk, and con- 
ducted her to the cottage to give her a surprise, and to watch 
its effect. As he ushered Rose into the pretty room, fitted 
up with all the elegance of a lady’s boudoir, she made an ex- 
clamation of intense astonishment and pleasure. The rural 
cottage in its thicket of roses, flowering shrubs and trees, and 
the pretty room, with its gems of art and literature, affected 
l»er with many delightful emotions. The novelty pleased her 
unaccustomed eyes; the beauty charmed her poetic soul; 
and the thought that all this had been prepared by William 
Level, and for her, touched her heart with |)rofound gratitude. 

"And this is your home ?” she said, turning her clear eyes, 
oeaming with innocent joy, upon his face. 

“ This is my home, sweet Rose, and yours, when you 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 37 

consent to ?liare it with mo,” he answered, with a jyrave 
tenderness ;hat was natural to him wlien speakinj;- to her. 

'‘Mine! mine! Oh, it is too muc-h ! What a beautiful 
place ! Wherever the eye roves through the room it lights 
uj)()n some lovely object, and if I look out of any window I 
see trees, and shrubs, and roses — everywhere roses !” she ex- 
claimed, with delight. 

” It is the bower of roses, love, and you are the loveliest 
rose of all. I shall call this cottage after vou.” 

The maiden suddenly put up her hands to hide the tears 
that were filling her eyes. 

” Why does my darling weep ?” inquired her lover, going 
to her side. 

“ Oh ! because you are so much too good to me, Mr. Lovel. 
And I do not know how it is, but your very kindness to mo 
d^^presses my spirits dreadfully.” 

“ But why should that be, mine own ?” 

“ I do not know, unless it is that I am so lowly, and of 
such little worth, and so helpless that I can do nothing for 
you.” 

" Sweet Rose, you can make me the happiest of men. You, 
and you only, can do this,” he said fervently. 

“ I, Mr. Lovel ; how can I make you happy ?” she whis- 
pered, in a tremulous voice, and with a deeply blushing cheek. 

“By sharing my home, my fortune, and my heart,” he 
whispered, bending over her. 

She bowed her head until her chin rested upon her bosom, 
and her fair hair fell forward and veiled her blushing cheeks 
and moist eyes. 

“Answer me, sweet Rose. Will you be mine ?” he asked, 
seeing that she continued silent. 

“ Mr. Lovel, I am too lowly born, too humble, and too 
ignorant to be your wife. Would it were otherwise, and I 
were more worthy of the station that you offer me,” she mur- 
mured, in an almost inaudible voice. 

He suddenly dropped her hand and walked to the window 
He had not meant any tiling like this. Yet the innocent 
village-girl had naturally mistaken his declaiation of love fof 
a proposal of marriage. 


Sc THE BRIDAL EVE. 

Ho-iv to undeceive her without shocking her; how to ex« 
plain, without estranging her, he could not tell. He perceived 
that the winning of this girl to his purpose must be the work 
of time and great patience. He returned to her side, and 
repossessing himself of her hand, said — 

“ Sweet love, I did not mean to hurrj and distress you. 
Since you feel a desire for a wider range of knowledge, 
though 1 think you altogether lovely as you are, I myself will 
become your teacher. It shall be my delightful task to open 
to your mind the treasures of literature and art, and to dired 
your reading. This lovely spot shall be our study, and you 
shall meet me here daily, while I remain in the neighborhood. 
Will you do this, sweet Rose 

“ To educate myself to be more worthy of you ? Oh, yes, 
Mr. Level. You almost distress me with kindness. But I 
have always heard that the noble and good draw their highest 
happiness from deeds of beneficence. How happy, then, must 
you be ! Yes, Mr. Lovel, I will come,” she murmured, in 
low and gentle tones, blushing at her own temerity in saying 
so much. 

And thus it was arranged. And daily, while he continued 
in the neighborhood, they met at the cottage in the wood. 
Rose Elmer proved an apt scholar. She had already the 
solid foundation of a good common education. Albert Hast- 
ings introduced her to the world of poetry, btdlea letfrea, and 
art. Wlien he left the neighborhood he had left with her a 
duplicate key of the cottage, that she might admit hei‘self 
when she pleased, only exacting from her that she should 
keep her visits thither, as she had kept their meetings, a 
secret. 

Before coming down on his last visit, Mr. Hastings had 
written her a note, signed, as usual, “ William Lovel,” and 
apjxjinted a meeting with her at the cottage. And now he 
had come to keej) the tryst; and he sat in the easy-chair, 
im])atiently consulting his watch and glancing at the window. 

At length a rustling was heard in the shrubbery, a white- 
robed figure passed the window, and lifted the latch of the 
door, and the next instant Rose Elmer stood within the room. 

"Dear Rose I sweet Rose 1 do I see you again at last? 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 39 

It seems an age since I saw you I” exclaimed Albert Hast- 
ings, rising and meeting her. 

“ It is two long weeks, Mr. Lovel ; but I have tried to 
improve them,” replied Rose, blushing. 

“You got my letter, dear girl. It appointed ten o’clock 
as our hour of meeting. It is now after eleven. You are 
late.” 

“ Oh, yes ; I could not avoid it. My poor mother is ail- 
ing, and we have an accession of work.” 

“ What has my lovely Rose to do with work ? It should 
not have prevented her from keeping an appointment with 
me.” 

“Ah, no, Mr. Lovel ; but this was a particular occasion, 
you know. There are visitors staying at the castle, in antici- 
pation of the wedding to-morrow. There was more work 
than the laundry-maids could manage, and so a large quan- 
tity of linen was sent to my mother, with orders that it should 
be returned to the castle this evening, for to-morrow the wed- 
iling is to come off. You are not of our neighborhood, or 
you would understand what a great event that is to us. Our 
lady. Lady Etheridge of Swinburne, is about to be married 
to Albert Hastings, Esq., son and heir of Colonel Hastings, 
of Hastings Hall, in this county. Ah, how happy Lady 
Etheridge must be 1” 

“ Why should Lady Etheridge be so happy, dear love ?” 
asked Albert Hastings, upon whom the words of the uncon- 
scious girl produced a painful and alarming effect. 

“Oh, because every one says how fortunate Mr. Hastings 
is to get so lovely a lady, with such vast ])ossessions. And 
she must be very happy to be able to confer so much upon 
him.” 

Rose met the eye of her lover fixed upon her with ardent 
admiration, and she suddenly recollected herself, paused, and 
Idushed deeply; for often, with her, a generous gush of feel- 
ing was interrupted by a sudden flush of bashfulness, that 
crimsoned her fair cheeks, silenced her lips, and left all her 
beautiful thoughts unspoken. 

“ You would say, sweet Rose, that this young baroness 
must be ver} happy to )>ring so vast an estate to her husbaud ; 




iO 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


but, do you know, dear Rose, that hers is not an enviable 
position for a woman ? Weaitliy heiresses are apt to be 
wooed for their money, and the men they marry and enrich 
are seldom grateful for the benefit ; on the contrary, they are 
often, even while enjoying the fortune of the heiress, secretly 
incensed against the woman who has placed them under a 
iieavy pecuniary obligation ; for men cannot endure to de})eiui 
upon women. It is not our nature. A man of fortune, who 
loves a penniless woman, loves her even the more deeply 
that she depends upon him for every thing.” 

AVhetlier this was true or false of all men, or of any man, 
Rose Elmer believed it, coming from him, and a bright light 
of joy broke over her face, as she thought — 

“ Then he will love me very dearly, for I shall owe every 
thing to him.” 

But the look of alarm and anxiety that had troubled the 
face of Albert Hastings at the mention of her mother’s cus- 
P tom from the castle laundry had not left it. AVhat if, through 
that channel of communication. Rose Elmer should learn his 
real name and position ? 

With some hesitation, he touched tiie subject. 

“ The custoni of the castle must be a great help to your 
good mother. But I ho})e, dear Rose, you do not go on 
errands to and from the castle. It is much too far for you.” 

“ Oh, no. I have never even seen the castle or the chase, 
although I have so much desired to do so.” 

“ Indeed ; but you have not lost much, dear. An old Nor- 
man castle, and the ruins of an old Saxon keep, have few attrac- 
tions for youth,” said Albert Hastings, with a view of dis 
couraging her wish to see it. 

“ Oh, but for me it has the strongest attractions. I do not 
know the reason, but 1 have always felt the very deepest 
veneration for ancient buildings and old families, and most 
tfSjH^cially for this old feudal castle and the noble race that 
have owned it for so many centuries. And for this young 
baroness, the last of a long, long line of ancestors, the last 
and sole representative of the ancient barony, I feel almost a 
superstitious veneration.” 

'' Then you have seen the baroness ?” inquired Hastings 
uneasily. 


V 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


41 


“Oh, no, no more than I have seen the castle. Tt is very 
Btrange, but my motlier seems to have a ])erfect horror of' the 
castle and all connected with it. She never can bear to near 
the family mentioned. She never would permit me to walk 
in that direction. And when the young baroness passed 
through Swinburne on tier way to Ib'istol, to embark for the 
Continent, and all the village turned out to see her, my 
mother pulled me into the house, shut the door, and fell into 
a chair, pale as ashes, and trembling in every limb.” 

“ Jt was something else that liad affected her, probably.” 

“ No ; it was the sight of the young barone.ss, I am sure. 
Jt was the same when lAidy lAheridge returned from the 
Continent. She shut up the house, and would not see her 
pass by ; and she took me in her arms, and cried over me 
as though her heart would break.” 

“A strange eccentricity at most, dear love — a symptom of 
nervousness, perhaps. Do not let it disturb you. Besides 
it must be leaving her, since she now takes work from the 
castle.” 

“ Oh, but she did not know it was from the castle. A 
footman out of livery brought the basket, and asked if the 
work could be done by Tuesday night, and said that he 
would call for it then. It was only in counting the linen that 
my mother found it out. She did the work, sir, but she has 
been ill ever since. She cannot hear to hear a word about the 
approaching icedding. Indeed, I think that her dread and 
horror of the castle people is getting to be a monomania. 
Can you imagine the cause of such a strange mental malady ?” 

“ No, sweet, I cannot. It is a mere whim of old age or 
llness,” replied Albert Hastings, cheerfully; for he cared 
very little for the cause of the laundry-woman’s monomania, 
so long as it served his purpose of effectually keeping Rose 
Elmer from the perilous neighborhood of the castle and chase. 

But the object for which he had requested this interview 
was not yet accomplished, was not yet even alluded to ; and 
how to introduce it to this pure-hearted girl was a diiliculty 
that perplexed even his dii)lomatic powers. On the morrow 
he was to lead the Lady Etheridge of Swinburne to the 
aUar, aud, after the marriage ceremony, he was to depart 


42 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


with his bride to spend the honeymoon at his seat in Walc'i 
— a newly purchased property. But the thought of parting, 
even for so short a time, with the idol of his heart, was in 
supportable. The fear that in his absc ee some accident of 
fortune might deprive him of her was intolerable. He knew, 
by a thousand tests of character, that this lovely girl would 
never become his own, unless she was made to believe her- 
self his wife. His object now was to silence her scruples, 
and secure her to himself by a false marriage, in which his 
confidential servant should personate the officiating clergy- 
man, and which was to be kept a secret from all, if he could 
only persuade her to take the step. It was not without a 
severe mental struggle that Albert Hastings had gained his 
own consent to this act of deception ; nor was it without 
great hesitation that he broached the subject. At length, 
when he found courage to speak, he seated himself beside 
her, took her hand, looked into her sweet face with an ex- 
pression that might have beguiled an angel, and said — 

‘‘ Dear Rose, you have known me now intimately for some 
months. Have I ever in word, look, or act, given you 
offence ?” 

No ! oh, no I never I” she replied, in surprise. 

“ In all this time, dear Rose, have you ever seen in me 
any thing unworthy of a gentleman 

Never, oh, never ! Why should you ask me she 
inc]uired, with astonishment. 

You believe me, then, to be a man of honor ?” 

‘‘ Of unimpeachable honor. I should deem it a profanity 
to question that. Why, then, do you ask me ?” she repeated, 
with increasing wonder. 

You have confidence in me 

“Perfect confidence. Oh, why should you doubt it, Mr. 
Lovel she inquired, with earnest fervor. 

“ Because, sweet girl, I am about to ask you to give me a 
treat proof of your confidence in my honor.’’ 

. “ What is it, Mr. Lovcl ? I know, I am sure you would 
not ask me to do any thing the least wrong, and so I promise 
that whatever you ask me to do, I will do.” 

“ I ask vou then, fair Ro.se to prove your confidence in me, 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 43 

by placing your future happiness in my care. In a word, 
will you be my wife 

Rose Elmer flushed crimson. 

“ Oh, that I were worthy to be so !” she whispered. 

“ You are worthy of a monarch’s love. Too worthy of 
mine ! Yet you will be mine own. Abswer me, sweet girl.^ 

She turned her eyes, full of *grateful love and honor, upon 
him, and silently placed her hand in his. 

“ Mine own !” exclaimed Albert Hastings, sealing those 
words with a burning kiss. 

Now came the most difficult part of his undertaking, to 
which all this had been but a prelude — to persuade her to a 
elandestine marriage. 

It would be tedious to repeat all the arguments he used to 
reconcile her to this measure. It is enough to say that he 
rvas a man of society, gifted with powers of logic and elo- 
quence that might have swayed the councils of a nation, to 
Bay nothing of the mind of a young girl. He was, besides, 
handsome, fascinating, and in love; and she was a simple 
village girl, loving, esteeming, and confiding in him with her 
whole heart. He found the task easier than he could have 
hoped. Hers was the perfect love which “casteth out fear,” 
that “thinketh no evil.” Indeed, she advanced but one ob- 
jection to the secret marriage — her duty to her mother. But 
this very argument he immediately seized, and used on his 
own side. 

Her “ duty to her mother,” ho said, “ was to provide for 
her support in her old age. Her marriage with himself 
would effectually do this.” 

Then she pleaded hard that this mother should be at once 
admitted into their confidence. Tenderly, but obstinately, he 
refused this ; tell%g her that their secret would not' be safe 
in the keeping of a sick and nervous woman, whose reason, 
from all that he could hear of her, was evidently tottering ; 
and that if that secret should be discovered, his prou^ uncle 
would not only disinherit him, and witlidraw his powerful 
protection from him, but would even turn his political in- 
fluence against him. Then Rose ceased to resist, only stipu- 
lating that after their marriage she should still remain with 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


her mother, who needed her services, until Mr. Lovel should 
be ready to acknowledge her as his wife, and take both her- 
Belf and parent to his own home. 

This was not all that Mr. Hastings wished, but neither 
logic nor eloquence could convince or persuade Rose Elmer 
to desert her ailing mother; and upon no other condition 
than that of being allowed to remain with her would she 
consent to the secret marriage. And to this condition, Mr.. 
Hastings at last agreed, especially as there were very serious 
difficulties attending his favorite project of sending her into 
Wales, where he and his lofty but unloved bride were going 
to spend their honeymoon. And, finally, he obtained a prom- 
ise from Rose that she would meet him at the cottage that 
same night, where, by a previous arrangement, his confidential 
servant, disguised as a clergyman, was to be in attendance to 
perform the marriage ceremony. After which. Rose should 
return to her mother, to remain during the few weeks of his 
absence in Wales, whither, he said, important business forced 
him. This agreed upon, they took leave of each other for a 
few hours, Mr. Hastings saying in parting — 

“'Farewell for the last time. Rose Elmer; when next we 
part I shall say, ‘ Farewell, Rose Lovel, my own sweet 
wife !’ ” 

They returned to the village by different routes. Mr, 
Hastings went to his inn, and summoned his confidential ser- 
vant to his presence. And Rose Elmer, full of hope and joy, 
turned down the street leading to her mother’s cottage. 

It was a narrow, dusty, unsightly little street. There was 
no lural freshness or picturesque beauty about it. The little 
old stone cottages on each side, and the few sickly-looking 
plants that stood in the windows, were covered with the 
hard, white dust that evei^y breath of wind^nd every passing 
vehicle, raised in clouds. 

About half-way down the length of this street stood a row 
of lo\y^tone cottages, covered, like every thing else, with a 
suffocating dust of pulverized limestone. Nothing could be 
drier or more depressing than the looks of the^e cottages. 
Not a green thing grew near them, not a foot of ground in- 
kervened between them and the dusty street; the doors 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


45 


opened immediately upon the sidewalk, and not a bit of pas- 
saj^e protected the privacy of the dwellers. Any intruder 
could step at once from the street into the keeping rooms of 
these houses. 

It was before one of the most forlorn -looking of these cot- 
tages that Rose Elmer paused, lifted the latch, and entered 
at once upon a large, comfortless-looking room, whose scanty 
furniture had been already covered with dust in her absence. 
A coarse carpet covered the floor — a cheap muslin veiled the 
onl}' window. A tent bedstead, with faded curtains, stood in 
the farthest corner. Opposite this stood a mangle, another 
corner was filled up with a staircase, having a closet under 
it, and the fourth corner was adorned with a cupboard, 
through the glass doors of which a little store of earthenware 
shone. There was a smouldering fire in the grate, and be- 
side this fire, in an old arm-chair, sat a woman, whom no one 
would have passed without a second look. She was a 
woman of commanding presence. Her form was tall, and 
must have once been finely rounded ; but now it was 
worn thin, almost to skeleton meagreness. Her features 
were nobly chiselled, and might once have been grandly 
beautiful, but now they were sunken and emaciated as those 
of death. Under her broad and prominent forehead, and 
heavy black eye-brows, shone a pair of large, dark-gray eyes, 
that burned fiercel}^ with the fires of fever or of frenzy. Her 
jet black hair, slightl}^ streaked with silver, was half-covered 
with a red handkerchief, tied beneath her chin, and partly 
fallen in elf-locks down one side of her face. A rusty black 
gown and shawl completed her dress. 

As the door opened, admitting Rose, she turned quickly in 
her chair, fixing her eyes with a look of fierce inquiry upon 
the intruder. 

“ How are you now, mother dear ? I hope you feel in bet- 
ter spirits said Rose, laying off her bonnet, and coming to 
the woman’s side. 

“ Eetter. Where have you been ? I have wanted you.” 

“ I have been — taking a walk through the woods, dear 
mother; and see, here are some wild strawberries I picked 
for you on my return. Will you eat them ?” said R-ose, of- 
fering her little basket. 


46 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ No ; T want none of them. You care little for me.” 

“ Mother, don’t say that. You do not know how much I 
love 3^ou.” 

“ Hush, girl, you have little cause — oh !” 

And the woman suddenly struck her hand upon her heart, 
dropped her head upon her breast, and seemed convulsed by 
some great agony Her features worked frightfully, her frame 
shuddered. 

“ Mother I mother I what is the matter ?” exclaimed Rose, 
throwing her arms around the woman in great alarm. 

“ It is — past.” gasped the woman, breathing with great 
difficulty. 

“ What was it, dear ?” 

“A spasm. It is gone.” 

“ Oh, mother, will it return ?” 

“Perliaps.” 

“ Let me run for a neighbor, or the doctor.” 

“ Nay, you must run somewhere else ! To-morrow, Laura 
— Lady Etheridge, of Swinburne, weds with Albert Hastings, 
of Hastings Hall. It is so, is it not ?” 

“ Surel^^ dear mother, the village is full of the wedding, 
and talks of nothing else. The village children have been 
employed all day in bearing flowers to decorate the castle 
church, and to strew in the path of the bride as she comes — 
they love her so well.” 

“Yes, she is a high and mighty lady; yet, sweet and 
gracious as becomes one so exalted. Come hither, girl, kneel 
down before me, so that I may take your face between my 
bands !” said the woman, growing more strange in her talk. 

Rose obeyed, and her mother, bowing her own stern, dark 
face, shut that of the girl between her hands, and gazed upon 
it wistfully, critically, murmuring — 

“ Fair face, delicate features, complexion pure as the inside 
of a conch-shell, white, and flushed with red ; hair like fino 
yellow silk, and eyes blue and clear as those of infancy ; 
hands, small and elegant. I have not let poverty spoil your 
beauty, have I, my child ?” 

“ No, dear mother, you have let kindness more likely spoil 
rae,’^ said Rose, in simple wonder at her words. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 47 

“I have not let your person grow coarse with hard work, 
have I, dear ?” 

“ No, mother ; notwithstanding that I ought to have worked 
with you, and for you.-’ 

“ Your hands have never been roughened by helping me io 
the laundry 

“ No, mother ; though they ought to have been.” 

Nor have your sweet eyes been spoiled by needle- 
work ?” 

“No, good mother; I have been as useless as a fine lady, 
to my shame.” 

“And I have worked hard to save you from work, and to 
pay for your schooling, have I not?” 

“ Dear mother, you have I You have been the best 
mother in the world, and only too good to me. But I will 
try to repay you.” 

“ Think of all that to-morrow, child ; and w'hen all the 
country around shudders at my crime, when all the people 
call down imprecations upon my name, do not you curse one 
v/ho has nourished you at her bosom, when that bosom is 
cold in death,” said the woman, solemnly. 

“ Oh 1 she is mad ! mad !” exclaimed Rose, in dismay, at 
hearing these words ; then lowering her voice, she said, 
“Mother! mother! try to collect yourself! It is I, youi 
poor daughter Rose, that kneels before you. Do you not » 
know me ?” 

“Ay, I know you well, and I know what I say,” repeated 
the woman, solemnly. 

“ Mother ! oh, why do you talk so wildly ? It is very 
dreadful I But you are not w^ell ! — let me go for some one ” 

“Yes; you must go for someone. You must go to tho 
castle this afternoon,” said the woman, in the same tone of 
deep gravity. 

“ To the castle ! I, mother !” exclaimed Rose, in surprise. 

“ Yes, you must go to the castle ; and, when you get 
there, ask to see her who calls herself Lady Etheridge.” 

“The baioness! Dear mother, \vhy does your thoughts 
80 run upon the baroness? What is she to us? Besides, 
is it likely that she will see me, a poor girl, a perfect stranger, 
this day of all others, when she sees no one ?” 


48 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“Hush, Rose! and for once obey one whom you have 
BO long looked upon as your inotiier. It will be the last time 
I will ask you to do so. Demand to be admitted in the 
presence of the baroness. Say that you have come upon a 
matter of life and death, that nearly concerns her ladyship ; 
insist, and she will not venture to refuse yon. 'WHien you 
stand before Lady Etheridge, say that her old nurse, Mag- 
dalene Elmer ” 

“tier nurse, mother! Yon Lady Etheridge’s nurse! I 
never knew that before !” interrupted Rose, in surprise. 

“There are many things that you never knew, my child. 
But attend ! Say to the baroness that Magdalene Elmer is 
dving !” 

“ Dying ! Oh, mother, do not say so ! it is very cruel ! 

You are not sick in bed — you are sitting up ! You are no* 

old either, but have many years of life before you !” 

“ Child, hear niy words, but do not judge them ! Say to 

Lady Etheridge that Magdalene Elmer, her dying nurse, 
prays — nay, demands — to see her this night ! Tell her that 
1 have a confession to make that.she must hear to-night, or 
never I Conjure her by all she holds dear on earth ! by all 
her hopes of Heaven ! by all her fears of hell ! to come to 
me to-night ! Tell her if she would escape the heaviest 
curse that could darken a woman’s life, to come to me to- 
night ! to come to me at once ! There ; get on your bonnet, 
and go !” 

“ j\lother ” 

“ Go I” 

“Oh! indeed I fear her wits are wandering I It is not 
safe to leave her alone !” thought Rose, in distress. 

“ Rose, will you obe}^ me ?” 

“ Mother, yes, certainly ; but let me send some one to 
Eti.y with you while I am gone.” 

“ Do as you please as to that, only lose no time on our 
way to the castle,” said the woman, in a tone of asperity 
that admitted of no opposition to her will. 

Rose hastily prepared herself for her long walk, and then 
6tepi)ed into the next door to ask a neighbor to attend her 
mother until she should return, and then bent her steps in the 
direction of the castle. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


49 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FALSE LOVER. 


One on the morrow woke 
In a world of sin and pain ; 

But the other was happier far, 

And never woke again. — Stoddard. 


It was a half mile out of the village that Rose turned into 
the winding road bounding Swinburne Chase on the south. 
She had never walked in that direction before ; it had 
always been a prohibited neighborhood to her, and now to 
lind herself sent thither by her mother, and upon such a 
strange errand, filled her mind with astonishment, wonder 
and alarm. Her mother, who had always sternly commanded 
her to avoid the neighborhood of the castle, now despatched 
her thither ; her mother, who had ever shunned with an 
intense horror all connected with the family, now conjured 
the lad}^ of the castle, by every motive that could actuate 
humanity, to come to her presence ! Her mother must 
surely be laboring under some transient hallucination, which 
perhaps the presence of Lady Etheridge might remove. 
Therefore all Rose had to do was, simply to deliver her mes- 
sage. 

Full of doubt and misgiving. Rose pursued her way along 
the south wall of the Chase ; and soon her thoughts were 
drawn from painful subjects by the beauty of the scenery 
that was coming into view. 

“ Oh I how blest is Lady Etheridge in the possession of 
this magnificent place ! To think that all these beautiful 
walks flowery vales, and running streams belong to her — 
are all her very own !” thought Rose, as she gazed upon the 
picturesque and extended landscape. 

In the distance was the ancient Gothic church in the park, 
and Rose felt a longing to go in and dream away an hour 
amid its old monuments and effigies. 

‘‘ There they rest from all their feuds and forays, very 
3 


50 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


harmless now, those terrible old barons,” she said, as she 
passed the church. 

Next the ruins of the ancient keep in its thicket of wood 
burst upon her view, .and she paused to worship that relic 
of antiquity. 

To think,” she murmured, “that, nearly a thousand 
years ago, her Norman ancestor beat down this Saxon tower 
and built that castle I Yes, I do venerate old buildings and 
old families ! And to-day I shall see this lady, the last of 
her long, long line I” 

Further on she reached the many spacious out-buildings 
and offices connected with the castle — numerous and extensive 
enough to have supplied a large town with all the necessaries, 
conveniences, and comforts of life. These gave her the most 
practical idea of the great wealth of the proprietor. 

“And, oh, to reflect that one person possesses such vast, 
vast riches, while whole communities, by the hardest toil, 
can scarcely get bread enough to eat.” 

But she was now at the lodge, a pretty Gothic cottage, 
overgrown with running vines. Passing this, she entered 
at once upon the beautiful grounds immediately around the 
castle, in all their diversified luxuriance of groves, and lakes, 
and flowers, and glowing and gorgeous in the golden light 
of the setting sun. 

“ Oh, how lovely I Oh, how enchanting ! Surely the 
scenery of the Celestial City must be something like this I” 
exclaimed Rose, in a rapture of admiration. 

Finally, the castle itself, in all its feudal magnificence, 
arose before her view. Upon this she gazed in silent wondei 
and awe, thinking — 

“All this princely domain, this royal castle, this regal state 
is kept for one young lady — young as myself ! Suppose it 
were for me !” y 

Then blushing at the excessive absurdity of this thought 
she quickened her steps, and soon reached the castle. 

Not daring to present herself at the principal entrance, 
she walked round the vast structure in search of some door 
not too imposing for her to knock at. She continued so to 
walk until she was seen by a footman in gray and white 
ivery, who came to her and inquired — 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


51 


What is your business here, young woman ?” 

“ To see Lady Etheridge,’^ replied Rose. 

“ To see her ladyship 1 Quite impossible, young woman ; 
aer ladyship sees Uo one to-day,” said the man, civilly; 
for every one in the service of the young baroness was 
trained to treat with respect the humblest that came to her 
portals. 

‘‘ But, if you please, I bring a most important message 
that concerns Lady Etheridge herself,” persisted Rose. 

“ I will summon Mrs. Maberly, her ladyship’s woman. 
Walk into yonder room,” said the man, conducting Rose into 
a small apartment on the ground floor, which the domestic 
the man had summoned shortly afterwards entered. The 
baroness’s woman was a stately personage, primly arrayed, 
and of the most dignified demeanor. 

“ Well, young woman, what is it you wish ?” inquired the 
lady’s lady. 

“ I wish to see the baroness, please,” said poor Rose, think- 
ing, If this is the lady’s maid, what a formidable person to 
meet must the lady herself be I” 

“You wish to see her ladyship, the baroness I Why, 
child, the idea is quite ridiculous,” said Mrs. Maberly, with 
great loftiness. 

“Nevertheless, I must see her, upon a matter of life and 
death, that affects her ladyship’s own interests. Therefore, 
you will please to take my name up, lest the baroness 
herself should be displeased,” said Rose, who was firm 
though frightened. 

“ Dear, bless us I And wdo shall I say waits the pleasure 
of her ladyship ?” inquired the worhan, loftily. 

“ Say Rose, daughter of her old nurse, Magdalene Elmer.” 

“ Very well. I will let her ladyship know that you are 
here, begging to see her : but really, you know, child, the 
idea of your being admitted to the presence of the baroness 
is just preposterous — simply preposterous,” said Mrs. Ma- 
berly, sailing out of the room, and leaving Rose to wait. 

We must go back a few hours to the moment that Lady 
Etheridge, of Swinburne, having executed a deed, transfer- 
ring her vast estates to her betrothed husband, and having 


62 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


taken leave of her guardian and his secretary, sat alone in 
her old library. She remained where they had left her, with 
her arm resting upon the table, and her queenly head bent 
beneath the gaze of the pictured old barons, who seemed to 
look down in anger that their descendant should have signed 
away to a stranger her ancient heritage. Little did she 
think or care about frowns, real or imaginary, as she sat 
there, beaming under the smiles of fortune, and intent alone on 
generous thoughts. She had just despatched a messenger to 
Mr. Hastings, requesting his presence for one hour, that 
afternoon, and she was now waiting for him to come, that 
she might place in his hands those documents that should make 
him sole master of Swinburne, and leave her with only the 
barren title. And how willingly, how gladly, she would have 
given up that also, if she could have conferred it, with the 
estate, upon him whom she loved with all the strength and 
fervor of her strong and ardent mind. She had given him 
freely all that she could possibly give — her priceless love, 
herself, her vast possessions — all that she was, and all that 
she had — and thought it too little for his merits. Had he 
required it, she would have given her life and soul as freely, 
if they had not belonged tc ner Creator. 

While she' sat wrapped in her sweet love-dream, Mrs. 
IVfaberly came in, and speaking in the low tone with which 
every one addressed Lady Etheridge, said : 

“ My lady, there is a young person down-stairs, who says 
that she is the daughter of your ladyship’s nurse, and brings 
a very important message, that she must communicate to no 
one but your lad3’'ship.” 

“ The daughter of my nurse 1 Let her come up,” said the 
baroness. 

Mrs. Maberly, astonished, returned to Rose, whom she 
conducted to the library, and opening the door, said : 

“ The young person, my lady. Shall 1 attend ?” 

“You may retire,” said the baroness, and the woman 
withdrew, closed the door, leaving Rose standing in the 
presence of one who seemed to her imagination to be a 
queen. 

“ Come hither, my dear,” said Lady Etheridge, holding 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


58 


out 119^ hand and addressing her as she would have spoken 
to a child. And indeed, Rose, though of the same age as 
the baroness, jet in the fair, soft, delicate type of her beauty, 
seemed several years younger than Lady Etheridge. 

At the invitation she approached and took the nauu that 
was held out to her and raised' it to her lips. It was a 
natural and instinctive tribute to the queenly presence of the 
lady. 

“ Now sit down, my dear. You are the daughter of my 
nurse 

“ Yes, my lady,” said Rose, seating herself in the chair at 
the same table that had lately been occupied by Colonel 
Hastings. 

“And now, my child, tell me what it is I can do for you.” 

Rose hesitated and blushed. The idea of asking the 
baroness to visit her own humble cot and ailing mother filled 
her with dismay. What would Lady Etheridge think of 
such a presumptuous request ? 

The lady perceived her embarrassment, and, to encourage 
her, said sweetly: 

“ Do not be afraid to speak. I shall be very happy indeed 
to do any thing to serve her who, for many months of infancy, 
filled a mother’s place towards me.” 

Encouraged by the amiability of the baroness. Rose re- 
plied : 

“ I have to prefer, on behalf of my mother, an extra- 
ordinary request. She prays of your ladyship to come and 
see her this night,” said Rose, reddening. 

Lady Etheridge looked up with a surprised and inquiring 
expression. 

“My lady, I know it is a very strange message; but I 
must", give it as she gave it to me. She said : ‘Tell Lady 
Etheridge, that I, Magdalene Elmer, her old nurse, prays to seo 
her ladyship to-night. That I have a confession to make, 
which she must hear now or never. That I conjure her, by 
all she holds sacred on earth ! by all her hopes of Heaven I 
by all her fears of hell 1 if she would escape the heaviest 
curse that could blast a woman’s life, now and forever, t(7 
come to me to-nigli\ for I am dying 1’” 


54 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


‘‘ Dying I dying I this cannot be so, or you would not 
wear that composed face I What does it all mean ?” inquired 
Lady Etheridge, in perplexity. 

My lady, I was ordered to give my mother’s message, 
without any qualification of my own. Nevertheless, I will 
not deceive your ladyship. I do not think my mother in 
any danger of death ; but 1 believe her to be the victim of a 
serious nervous malady, that subjects her to very distressing 
illusions ; but so terribly anxious is she to see your ladyship 
this evening, that I fear it will go very ill with her if she 
should be disappointed,” said Rose, gravely. 

Rose waited anxiously the reply from Lady Etheridge, 
who, although regarding the request as the caprice of a sick 
and nervous woman, could not treat it with indifference. 

■'* I will go to your mother immediately,” said Lady 
Etheridge, hastily, as she rang a little hand-bell that stood 
upon the table. 

It was answered by a page, to whom she gave the order 
that a plain, close carriage should be brought round within 
half an hour. 

Rose stood up to take her leave. 

“ Stop a moment, my dear. You walked from the vil- 
mge ?” 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

“ Then you mast not walk back. It would be too much 
for your young strength. Besides, you would not get back 
before night. You must ride with me, and you will reach 
home all the sooner.” 

“ I thank you, my lady,” said Rose, blushing at the 
thought of this honor. 

“ I have an engagement that will not occupy me more 
than fifteen or twenty minutes, while the carriage is coming 
V round. After that I shall be at liberty to go at once, I am 
expecting Mr. Hastings here momentarily. Nay, my dear, 
you need not leave the room ; but when you hear my visitor’s 
name announced, you may retire to that bay window. You 
will find some prints there that may amuse you for the 
few moments that Mr. Hastings will remain,” said Lady 
Etheridge. And even as she spoke the door was opened, 
and a servant announced — 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


56 


“ Mr. Hastings, my lady.’’ 

On hearing the name announced, Rose had turned away 
and stolen off to the window, within the flowing curtains of 
which she sat quietly waiting. She heard the lady say, in 
her peculiarly rich and deep tones ; 

Light the chandelier, Williams, and show Mr. Hastings 

in.” 

And in one moment there was a blaze of light flooding the 
libraiy, and in the next instant Albert Hastings entered the 
room, approached the baroness, raised her hand to his lips, 
and said, gallantly : 

“ I am here by your commands, my liege lady, my adored 
Laura.” 

That voice I 

Rose Elmer started and gazed out from her retreat. Yes. 
there he stood, her own betrothed lover, bowing over the 
hand of Lady Etheridge, and addressing to her all those ten- 
der epithets of love that he had been accustomed to bestow 
upon Rose ! The poor girl did not faint nor exclaim ; the blow 
was too sudden and too heavy ; it stunned and benumbed 
her into the stony stillness of a statue, as she stood there 
within th-e shadow of the window curtains. She was cold as 
ice, her blood seemed freezing in her veins, her heart was 
sinking, there was a dead, heavy weight in her bosom, yet 
she was unconscious of these sufferings — every sense was 
absorbed in witnessing the scene at the library table. 

Again he raised her hand to his lips, with more expres- 
sions of passionate love, when the lady, with a playful 
gesture towards the window, indicated that they were not 
alone. Then they spoke in tones so subdued that they must 
nave been inaudible, at that distance, to any sense of hearing 
less preternaturally strained than that of Rose. 

“ I have begged you to come here this evening, that I may > 
place these documents in your hands,” said the baroness, 
gently pushing towards him a packet of: papers. 

With a look of interest, he took them up, and perceiving 
their purport, flushed to the forehead with ill-concealed 
triumph, as he exclaimed : 

“ The title deeds of the Swinburne estates I — my adored 


55 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Lady Etlieridge I my beloved Laura ! your confidence— 
your munificence overwhelms me ! You — but you never did 
your own personal worth, nor my love the wrong, to imagine^ 
that any mercenary thought mingled with my devotion to 
you 

“No, Mr. Hastings — no, Alberti I never doubted, or 
would doubt, the pure disinterestedness of your regard for 
poor Laura Etheridge.’’ 

“And if this peerless Laura, instead of being the Baroness 
Etheridge, of Swinburne, had been the lowest cottage-maiden, 
I should have loved her all the same ! She would still have 
been the queen of my heart.” 

“ The loved of your heart I do believe she would have 
been,” said the lady, with a beaming smile. Then, with 
affectionate earnestness, she pressed the documents upon his 
acceptance. 

He made a strong feint of refusing so vast a sacrifice ; but 
finally, with seeming reluctance, suffered them to be forced 
upon his reception. Then the interview terminated. With 
the chivalric courtesy of that period, he dropped upon one 
knee, raised her hand to his lips, arose, bowed, and retired. 

As soon as she was left alone. Lady Etheridge rang a bell, 
and summoned the little page to inquire if the carriage was 
ready. Being answered in the affirmative, she said : 

“ Tell Mrs. Maberly, then, to bring me a dark bonnet, 
shawl, and gloves to this room. I am going out.” 

When the page withdrew to obey. Lady Etheridge saun- 
tered towards the bay window, saying : 

“ Come, my dear, I will not detain you any longer.” 

There was no reply; but on pushing aside the curtains, 
Lady Etheridge found Rose stretched in a swoon upon the 
floor. 

“ Good heaven 1 how has this happened ? Ah, I see, she 
has had a long walk, and probably a long fast, and she .ooks 
very delicate. I should have offered her refreshments. How 
very thoughtless of me not to hav^e done so,” exclaimed 
Lady Etheridge, hurrving to ring, just as Mrs. Maberly 
entered the room. 

“Ah, Mrs. Maberly — here is this poor child fainting from 


THE BKTDAL EVE 


57 


exhaustion ; pray, hasten, and brin^ hartshorn and a glass 
of wine,” said her ladyship, going back to the swooning girl, 
and raising her fair head, and beginning to chafe her hands. 

Presently Mrs. Maberly returned with restoratives, and 
took her lady’s place by the fainting girl, and succeeded in 
bringing her to consciousness. Rose opened her eyes and 
gazed around with a stony stare. 

“ Poor child, you fainted with exhaustion. You have over- 
tasked your strength. Here, drink this wine ; presently you 
will swallow a piece of biscuit,” said Lady Etheridge, as she 
held the glass to her lips. 

Rose mechanically swallowed a little wine, and then gazed 
around the room again, and passed her hands thoughtfully 
across her brow, as though trying to dispel some illusion and 
collect her faculties. Then perfect memory returned, a rush 
of indignant blood dyed her face with blushes, she made an 
etfort. arose, and stood upon her feet. 

“You feel better now, my child,” said the young baroness. 

“Yes, my lady, much better,” she answered steadily. 

“You must not overtask your strength so again, my 
child.” 

“ I will not, my lady. I am quite ready to attend you.” 

“ You do not look nor speak quite right yet, my dear ; you 
had better rest a little longer.” 

“ I prefer to go now, if 3^011 please, my lad}".” 

“ Indeed, if we were not going to the sick bed of your 
mother, 3"ou should not leave the castle to-night,” said Lady 
Etheridge, 

Mrs. Maberly then brought her lady’s bonnet and shawl, 
arranged them upon her lady’s graceful person, and handed hef 
gloves, and in a few moments they left the room, and entered 
the close carriage to drive to the village. 


68 


THE BRIDAL BVB. 


CHAPTER lY. 

NURSE ELMER’S CONFESSION. 


Take my title, take my wealth, 

Take my rank and jewels fine. 

What care I for rank or wealth, 

Since thou art mine, and I am thine? — Anonymout* 
The tale was brief ; but oh the sorrow 
It stabbed to that young, trustful heart ! 

“ To-day a peeress ! — What, to-morrow ? 

Will he from my side e’er depart ?” 


It was by a soft moonlight that Lady Etheridge entered the 
street leading to Nurse Elmer’s house. The street was very 
still ; for it was the hour at which the hard-working inhab- 
itants usually retired to rest. Lady Etheridge was glad of 
this ; for, idol of the neighborhood as she was, she could 
scarcely have appeared in the village streets without eliciting 
some well-meant but annoying demonstration of regard from 
the people. 

The carriage drew up before the humble, almost squalid 
habitation of the laundress, and Lady Etheridge alighted, 
saying in dismay and sorrow : 

“ This is the home of my old nurse I This should never 
have been, and shall no longer be, her only refuge. She 
shall henceforth dwell in ease and comfort, please Heaven!” 

“ Lady Etheridge, you know not what a day, an hour, may 
bring forth I” spoke a sepulchral voice within the house. 

With a shudder of vague alarm, the baroness crossed the 
threshold, and entered the house, followed by Rose. It re- 
mained just as Rose had left it five hours before. A smoulder- 
ing fire in the grate, and a flaring lamp on the chimney-piece, 
luridly lighted up the scene. But thp woman, Magdalene 
Elmer, had left the chair, and lay extended upon the bed, at- 
tended by a neighbor. 

'' Come hither. Lady Etheridge !” spoke the same sepul- 
chral voice, in a tone of command at strange variance with 
the relative positions of the speaker and the person spoken to. 

The baroness, amazed and wondering, approached the 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 59 

darkest corner of the room in which the curtained bedstead 
stood. 

The woman in attendance rose and relinquished her seat to 
the lady. 

“And now, Mrs. Martin, take Rose home with you for an 
hour, for what I have to communicate to this lady must be 
heard by herself only.’’ 

The neighbor, in silent wonder, beckoned Rose, and both 
left the house. 

Lady Etheridge was alone with the strange woman who 
had summoned her. 

Magdalene Elmer raised herself in bed, and put aside the, 
dark curtains, so that the light of the lamp shone full upon 
her own emaciated face and figure, as well as upon the stately 
form of the baroness sitting near. 

■‘.Now look me in the face. Lady Etheridge.” 

The baroness raised her own large, luminous, dark gray 
eyes to meet the fierce, burning, dilated orbs of the woman, 
and felt a strange, painful, electric thrill shake her whole 
frame. 

“Oh, pray do not look at me so I it distresses me and can 
do you no good,” said the baroness, shuddering. 

“ Lady Etheridge, you would be astonished were I to ad- 
dress you by any other title than that you now bear, would 
you not ?” 

The baroness looked at the speaker inquiringly, and did not 
answer. 

“ Or if not astonished, you would only be distressed at the 
supposed hallucination of your old nurse ; therefore, as yet, 

I shall only call you by the name to which you have been ac- 
customed.” 

The baroness could only look and listen intently, being 
unable to conjecture to what the strange words of the woman 
tended, if, indeed, they tended to any thing. 

“ Lady Etheridge, what sort of an education have you re 
ceived ? — oh, I do not mean as to the polite branches, for I 
know well that you have had all sorts of masters and mis- 
tresses for every art and science that is deemed necessary to 
the training of a young lady of ouality — but I mean to ask 


60 


rHE BRIDAL EVE 


you iiave you received the education that fits, that strengthens, 
that prepares you to meet trial, sorrow, and adversity ; for 
these are the lot of all ; must sooner or later come to every 
one, even to you, who are styled the Baroness Etheridge, of 
Swinburne 

And here the woman paused, fixing her wild, mournful eyes 
intently upon the face of the baroness. 

“I hope,” said Lady Etheridge, speaking slowly and 
thoughtfully, “ I hope that I have learned gratitude to my 
Heavenly Father for all His abundant mercies, and humility 
from my own personal unworthiness, and, above all, submis- 
sion to His divine will, acknowledged in all the events of 
*life.” 

“ Lady Etheridge, you have read the Bible story of Job. 
Job was rich in lands, and herds, and flocks ; in truth, and 
honor, and love ; and in favor with God and man ! And in 
one day God, to try his soul,- stripped him of all ! all ! all ! 
left him forlorn, dying, childless, unloved, unhonored, and a 
beggar I Lady Etheridge, do you think that in modern 
times there can be any parallel for the case of Job?” she 
asked, solemnly, fixing her eyes upon the face of the young 
baroness. 

“Yes,” replied Lady Etheridge, gravely and sweetly, “life 
is full of such vicissitudes. There was Maria de Medicis, the 
daughter, sister, wife, and mother of monarchs, queen con- 
sort, and afterwards queen regent, of France, who died of 
starvation in a miserable garret in Boulogne. The history of 
the world is full of such instances, and the study of them is 
good to strengthen the mind.” 

“ I hope such studies have strengthened yours. Lady 
Etheridge.” 

“At least they have taught me to hold all the good gifts of 
God solely at His disposal — to bo most grateful for them 
while they are ours — to resign them cheerfully when they are 
recalled, believing ever that all things work together for good. 
And now, Nurse Elmer, I have been attentively watching 
you, and looking at you. There is nothing nervous or flighty 
in your manner ; you speak the words of truth and soberness, 
only with a deeper solemnity than usual ; you speak of the 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


61 


awful vicissitudes of life, and you address the lesson to me 
personally, with the profound solemnity of one who would 
prepare my mind for the hearing of some calamity. You 
have something then to tell me, something the true nature of 
which, except that it seems to be a misfortune, I cannot even 
imagine.” 

“Ah, Lady Etheridge, happy, prosperous, worshipped as 
you have been, you cannot even fancy any trouble approach 
ing yourself I” 

“Ah, yes, Albert Hastings I my betrothed husband ! noth- 
ing has happened to him or his family ? But that could not 
be ; 1 parted with him but two hours since.” 

“ Nothing evil has happened, or is about to happen to your 
betrothed.” 

“ Thank Heaven for that !’• 

“Except through yourself!” 

“Except through myself? Nurse, what do you mean? 
How should evil come to Albert Hastings through me — 
through me, who would lay down my life and die for him, if 
I could so make him happier than by living for him.” 

“ Lady Etheridge, can you fancy no circumstances in which 
it would be a misfortune for a man to marry the woman that 
he loves, even when that man is worthy of the affection that 
she returns with all her heart ?” 

“ Husn ! oh, hush ! there is some terrible family secret 
with which I have not been made acquainted I What is it ? 
Is there a vein of insanity, or a taint of leprosy in our 
blood ?” 

“ No, Lady Etheridge, you come of a race with blood as 
healthy — as healthy as that of an agricultural laborer.” 

“And no dishonor has ever attached to the name of Ether- 
idge ?” 

“ None.” 

“ Then I ask }' 0 u again what is this evil that threatens me, 
and through me, Albert Hastings ?” 

“ I have a story to tell you. Lady Etheridge, and I had best 
begin at the beginning ; but first pour me a little wine from 
that bottle on the chimney-piece.’^ 

Lady Etheridge complied, and when Magdalene hllmer 


62 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


had drank a glassful, she drew a deep breath, and commenced 
her story. 

The baroness composed herself to listen to the story of her 
old nurse, with a feeling of indefinable dread ; and the latter 
began her tale : 

“ Lady Etheridge, my father was the game-keeper at 
Swinbuime Chase, as his father and grandfather had been be- 
fore him. Our family name was Coke. When I was about 
seventeen years of age, my mother died, leaving to my care 
one lovely little sister, about ten years old. I became the 
housekeeper of my father, and the mother of my little sister 
May. William Etheridge, the late baron, was then about 
my own age. He had not come to his title, as his bachelor 
uncle was still living. The young gentleman spent all his 
holidays at Swinburne Castle, and, during the season, em- 
ployed his time largely in woodland and field sports. He 
was often with my father and the under game-keepers. And 
he was also a frequent visitor of our lodge in the woods, 
when there was no one present to prevent his talking non- 
sense to ‘the game-keeper’s pretty daughter,’ as I was called. 
And nonsense, and nothing but nonsense it was ; yet it won 
my silly heart, for I was but seventeen. Do not shrink from 
me. Lady Etheridge. My affections were won — not my 
honor. And I, foolish creature, believed all his vows sincere, 
because when he made them he was really in earnest. The 
spoiled and inexperienced boy believed what he said, when he 
swore solemnly that he never could love any other woman but 
me, and that he would marry me as soon as he came to his 
titles and estates. And if I ever seemed to doubt, then to en- 
courage me and strengthen his own purpose, he would repeat 
to me from his school reading, every instance in the history of 
the world in which kings, princes, and great men had married 
peasant girls — how Peter the Great married an humble 
country-girl, who became the famous Catherine, Empress of 
Russia, and many other authentic cases equally strange and 
extravagant, until my mind became so familiarized with the 
idea of. kings and princes elevating beggar girls to the throne, 
that really the thought of my playmate, William Etheridge, 
the heir of Swinburne, making me his wife, did not seem ex* 


THE BRIHAL EVE. 


63 


travagant. Remember, I knew nothing of the ways of the 
world ; no, nor did he know much more. I loved the frank 
and generous boy, who lent me books and taught me all he 
knew that I could learn, and who promised to share his name 
and fortune with me, and who certainly then intended all he 
promised. At length the boy went to Eton, and then to Ox- 
ford. Young men learn a great many more thing? besides 
Latin and Greek at the public schools, and at the universities. 
The boy wrote to me from Eton, always addressing me as his 
‘ Maggy.’ He also came on a visit to the castle just before 
entering Oxford and passed many hours of each day at our 
lodge. Heaven knows that an angel might have been present 
at our interviews without offence to his heavenly purity, they 
were so innocent. Yet that did not prevent the tongue of 
calumny from maligning us. The injurious rumors never 
reached my father’s ears, who remained as unconscious of the 
slander as he was of the young squire’s frequent visits to his 
daughter. At length the youth took leave of us and went to 
Oxford, and it was twelve months before he came to the 
castle again. When he did, he brought some young men to 
spend the vacation with him. He came to the lodge but 
seldom and stayed but a short time. He still called me his 
‘ Maggy,’ but he jested about our childish love. And I, who 
had grown older, began to understand how impossible it was 
that the future Baron Etheridge, of Swinburne, could ever 
marry his game-keeper’s daughter, and I bore no malice 
against this young Oxonian, but I retained in my heart a 
kindly affection for my boy-lover, as though he had been a 
creature altogether separate and distinct from this fine young 
squire. And so in my thoughts I separate them still. AVell, 
he went away again, and I saw him no more for two years, 
for the next vacation he spent with some friends. In the 
meantime my young sister grew up as beautiful a creature as 
ever bloomed into womanhood. She had a small and grace- 
ful form, delicate features, complexion of the purest white and 
red, glittering black hair, splendid black eyes, and an ever- 
varying, most enchanting smile. I was twenty-five, and my 
Bister eighteen, when the young squire came to the castle to 
pay us a last visit, previous to departing for his tour on tho 


64 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


continent. I never had seen him so handsome and lascin- 
ating as he was then. Still I never thought of him except 
as the young master, and never associated him with the 
memory of my love ; but during the few weeks of his stay he 
came frequently to our lodge, and always seemed affectionate 
to me. I used to do all the shopping and marketing for our 
little household, and often upon returning from these errands 
in the village, I found Mr. Etheridge in company with my 
fair young sister. Upon these occasions he would always 
spring forward and greet me most affectionately, saying : 

• “‘1 have been waiting for you, Maggy,’ or words to that 
effect. 

“ Heaven knows that I never had a doubt of his honor, or 
a fear for my sister’s heart. I had known the young squire 
from his boyhood, and though we had once been sincere 
lovers, he had never done, or said, a single thing to w’ound 
my delicacy; therefore, how could I suspect that his visits 
boded evil to my May ? Alas ! 1 did not know how much 
besides classics and mathematics he had learned at Oxford ; 
no, nor how the world had changed him ! I was blind, deaf, 
senseless to all misgivings. At length the last day of his 
visit came. The next morning he was to start upon his 
travels. That night my sister clung to me and wept all 
night. I could not comfort her. She had been hysterical for 
several days, and I set it all down to nervousness, never for 
an instant connecting her malady with the thougl^.t of the 
young squire’s departure. The next morning he to^k leave 
of us and w^ent away; alone as we thought. That night my 
May was missing. Ah I I cannot enter upon the details of 
this sad story. A few days of agonizing anxiety and fruit- 
less search, and then we ascertained that she was the com- 
panion of his tour. He had waited for her at a neighboring 
post-town, where, according to their previous arrangement, 
she had joined him. My father was an old man, in feeble 
health; he never recovered the shock. The baromwas in a 
terrible rage, and swore that he would never forgive oi speak 
to his nephew again. He did all he could for my father, re- 
tained him in his service at full wages, and hired a young 
man, John Elmer, to do his duty in the Chase. I m’jst 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


66 


hurry over this part of my story. Within twelve months 
after the flight of May my father died. I married John 
Elmer, and he succeeded to the situation of head-keeper, and 
Ave continued to occupy the lodge. It was in the second year 
of our marriage that we got news of May. He had deserted 
lier, broken her heart, and she was dead — dead, and in a 
foreign grave I It was then that I registered an oath in 
heaven to avenge upon the head of her destroyer the ruin and 
death of my only sister. And to do this the more effectually, 
I resolved to conceal the fiery hatred that consumed my 
heart. 

“Another year passed. The old baron died, and the young 
one reigned in his stead. 

“ I would fain have persuaded my husband to throAV up his 
situation, rather than serve a master who had wrought us 
such bitter wrong. But John Elmer was obstinate. We re- 
mained, and I buried the bitter hatred in my breast — and bided 
my time. 

“The new baron entered upon his inheritance with all the 
eclat that usually attends such events. 

“ I joined the ranks of his servants and tenants that lined 
each side of the great avenue, up which his carriage drovr 
to the castle. 

“ He saw me among the others, and dared to call me to his 
carriage window, to shake hands with him, inquire after my 
health, and wish me well, just as though he had not murdered 
— yes, murdered my only sister I’’ 

“But, Nurse Elmer ! you are speaking of my father I For- 
bear, I pray you, to use such language of him in his daughter’s 
bearing,” interrupted the baroness, with dignity. 

“ Patience, Lady Etheridge 1 I was very patient ; for there 
is nothing so patient as hatred — biding its time I I re- 
pressed the rage that burned within my breast, and smiled 
uj)on his lordship, and thanked him for his courtesy, and 
wished him joy of his fair estate, and — bided my time ! 

“ I pass on to other days, when he wooed and won a young 
and beautiful bride. She was a delicate creature, fair-skinned, 
biue-e3X*d, golden-haired— too fragile for the cares of this 
world, where, indeed, she did not tarrj’^ long. It was somo 
4 


66 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


fifteen months after her marriage that she died, leaving an 
infant daughter of only a few days old. Her early death was 
a righteous judgment on him, the traitor 1” 

“ My mother ! niy sweet young mother, who perished in her 
'arly youth ! Oh, nurse, how can you say such things of her ?” 

“ Peace, Lady Etheridge, until you hear the rest — it is not 
much. The new-born babe was likely to perish for the want 
of a nursing mother. I was then nursing my own child, 
which was but three weeks old. My husband was down with 
the mortal illness that finally terminated his life. The house- 
keeper at the castle recommended that the child should be 
placed in my charge. I was applied. to, and I agreed to 
nurse the infant, but only on condition that it should be sent 
to my cottage, and left in my sole care. To this his lordship 
consented. Satan himself seemed to further all my plans of 
vengeance. My husband died and was buried. His lordship, 
to dissipate his bitter grief, went abroad. Before leaving the 
neighborhood he came to our lodge to bid adieu to his child. 
He put one hundred pounds in my hands., and said to me: 

“ ‘ Oh, Maggy, if ever you loved your old playmate, be 
faithful to this charge — be a tender mother to this nursling.’ 

“ He went away. And then I laid the babes side by side 
in the solitude of my room, and looked at them. Young 
infants as they were they were much alike. My own child 
and my master’s were both of the same age and sex, and both 
little, round-faced, bald-headed, almond-eyed babies, with no 
more individuality to distinguish one from the other than 
w^axen dolls of the same pattern. 

“ There, in the solitude of my cottage, I changed the 
clothing of those children. And three months afterwards, 
V hen his lordship came home, it was my daughter whom 1 
carried up to the castle to be caressed and fondled, and it was 
my daughter who was the next week carried in state to the 
family chapel and christened by a Lord Bishop, who came 
down for the purpose. It was my daughter who had ser- 
vants, and tutors, and governesses to attend her by day and 
by night. It was my daughter who was brought up with the 
state of a young princess. Finally, it was my daughter, who. 
at the death of the baron, entered into his inheritance as 


TUE BRIDAL EVE 


67 


Laura, Baroness Etheridge, of Swinburne !” exclaimed the 
weird creature, her eyes gleaming with triumph, as if again 
she felt the virulent stimulus of hatred, and tasted the 
poisoned sweetness of revenge 1 

“ My God I my God 1 Oh, woman, woman ! — for I cannot 
call you mother — what is this that you have done moaned 
the lady, dropping her head upon her clasped hands. 

I have consummated my revenge ” 

Lady Etheridge shuddered and shrank away from her. 

“ I have filled my life with remorse ” 

Lady Etheridge again shuddered. 

“And I have lost my immortal soul I Laura, no longer 
Baroness Etheridge — Laura, my daughter, speak to me, I am 
dying !” 

“ Oh, mother ! mother I mother ! mother !” exclaimed she 
W’ho was no longer Lady Etheridge, as she dropped upon he: 
knees by the bed-side, and buried her face in the coveWet. 
No reproach was on her lips, nor in her heart, for this great 
wrong, though whirling through her brain in wild confusion 
came all the fearful features of the crime ; the sacred trust 
betrayed — the motherless infant defrauded not only of wealth, 
but of rank, of home, friends, education, in one word, ol all 
her birthrights, and another child, scarcely less fatally 
WTonged, brought up, in almost regal state and luxury, to 
believe herself mistress of a vast inheritance, to contract 
herself in marriage to a man of rank and fortune, and just 
upon the eve of her wedding-day, to be hurled down from 
the summit of prosperity, happiness, and honor, to the depth 
of adversity, sorrow, and degradation. And this crime com- 
mitted, not from the motives of a mistaken maternal love, but 
from those of the darkest hatred and revenge ; and now con- 
fessed, not in penitence and contrition, but in a horrible re- 
morse, that half-gloried in, half-shuddered at, the consumma' 
tion of its vengeance/ 

Had this woman been any other than her own mother, the 
bursting heart of Laura would have relieved itself in a storm 
of fiery indignation ; but as it was, the sv\ tiling emotions 
that nearly broke her heart were repressed and conquered 
during the few minutes that she knelt there with her face 
buried in the co ’er’et. 


88 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ Laura, Laura, speak to me I comfort me I I am dying I 
Laura, Laura, you at least have no reason to complain ; you 
have not suffered by the exchange ! You have received the 
education of a gentlewoman ; you should not blame me !” 

“ Mother, mother, I do not presume to do so ; but, oh ! do 
not defend your crime. Repent of it ! repent of it ! pray 
God for forgiveness I” sobbed Laura, burying her face in the 
bed-clothes. 

“ Repent ? — I undo my doings. I can go no further,’^ re- 
plied the woman, gloomily. 

“Ah ! my mother, to undo what you have done — to right 
this wrong, will be more difficult than you think ; for though 
I feel in my heart the truth of this sad story, and though I 
shall immediately yield up my possession of the castle and 
estates that I have so long considered my own, yet, believe 
me, it will be difficult to convince the House of Peers, before 
whom this matter must come, that the nameless girl whom 
you deprived of the title has any right thereunto.” 

“ Will it ? The proof does not rest solely upon my word or 
dying-oath. Let any one lead Rosamond Etheridge through 
a gallery of the portraits of her ancestors, and compare her 
face with theirs, and it will then be seen that Rosamond, 
in face and feature, is a true Etheridge. Or, if more proof is 
needed, let any one strip up her sleeve, and look upon her 
right arm above the elbow,' and they will see the fanri-ly mark, 
the fiery cross with which, while in Scotland, some ancient 
Baroness of Etheridge was so frightened as not only to leave 
its image on her immediate child, but to send it down to all her 
descendants. Have you, Laura, any such mark, or any such 
resemblance ?” 

“ No, no ; and I remember that the absence of the Eth- 
eridge mark, and of all likeness to the Etheridge family, used 
to be commented upon by the servants in my presence.” 

“Ah ! nor is that all. There are other proofs. The links 
in the chain of evidence will all be found complete.” 

“ It is better that it is so ; since a question as to th.e true 
inheritrix must be raised. I am glad that the answer is 
susceptible of proof which will place the matter at rest for- 
ever. And now, my mother, you are not dying, nor even 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


69 


nec.r death, as your fears would sup^gest. You must permit 
me to return to the castle, and make certain arrangements 
that must not be delayed. I will return to you immediately 
afterwards,” said Laura, rising, and arranging her disordered 
dress. 

In their long interview, the night unheeded had passed 
away, and brought the morning. 

When Laura opened the door, the first rays of the rising sun 
streamed into the room. The carriage still waited before the 
door, and the coachman was asleep on his box. 

“Johnson,” said the lady, “ I am really sorry to have kept 
you sitting here all night, while I watched by a sick bod. 
You shall go to sleep when you get back to the castle ; but 
now drive round to the residence of Colonel and Mi’. Hastings, 
and request them to come to me at the castle upon important 
business that will not admit of delay. Then return hither to 
take me home.” 

The weary coachman obeyed, and, gathering up his reins, 
drove off. The lady returned to the house, and sat down be 
side the bed of the now sleeping woman, to wait until the 
carriage came back. 

Stunned by the shock of her sudden fall, distressed by 
doubts of the reality of her own position, and of the stability 
of her own reason,' tempted to believe the events of the night 
only the phantasmagoria of a feverish dream, and feeling, 
through all this chaos of thought, the imminent necessity of 
immediate action, Laura waited until, almost at the same 
moment the carriage drove ap to the door. Rose, with the 
neighbor at whose house she had spent the night, came in. 

Making a sign to them that her patient was asleep, Laura 
Elmer arose to leave the house ; but first she turned to gaze 
on Rose, the unconscious, though rightful Baroness Ether- 
idge Since the preceding night, a fearful change had passed 
over the face of the maiden. Her cheeks wore the pallid hue 
of death, her eyes were dim and sunken, her lips blue and 
tremulous ; her voice, in bidding good-morning to Lady 
Etheridge, was so low and faltering as to be almost inaudible. 

“How this child loved her supposed mothe’. ” was the 
thought of Laura, as she kindly said, “ Do not ()e uneasy, 
our patient is not in immediate danger.” 


ro 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


“Thank you, I know that she is not, my lady,” replied 
Rose, in a tearful voice. 

“ Then what other grief can a young girl like you possibly 
have ?” inquired Laura, sympathetically. 

“ The heart knoweth its own bitterness, Lady Etheridge — a 
bitterness with which the stranger intermeddleth not,” replied 
Rose, with a certain mournful dignity. 

“ Yery true ; I beg your pardon ; yet permit me to be the 
good fairy who will foretell to you an end, before many days, 
of all your troubles,” said Laura, gently, for not the slightest 
element of jealousy entered into her heart of the unconscious 
maiden who was soon to displace her from her high rank. 

“ I have no troubles. Lady Etheridge ; those only have 
troubles who have hopes, prospects, and desires. I have 
none ; nothing but the bitterness of an arid heart. Do not 
occupy your noble mind with my poor affairs, my lady. This 
is your wedding day ; I have the honor to wish you much 
joy, madam I” said Rose, with a deep courtesy, as she turned 
away. 

“ Yes, she is an Etheridge — a true Etheridge, although she 
Knows it not as yet. And I — who am I ? This must be all 
a dream, or a delirium of some fierce brain-fever ! Oh, 
Heaven, that I could wake I — that I could burst these bonds 
of sleep or frenzy, and awake I” thought Laura, as she stood 
for a few moments like one in a trance. Then, recovering 
herself, she told the good neighbor to say to Mrs. Elmer, when 
she awoke, that she would soon return; and, taking leave, 
entered the carriage and drove to Swinburne Castle, no 
longer her home. 

She was met in the hall by Mrs. Maberly, her woman, who 
was all in a flutter of anxiety. 

“Ah, my lady 1 my lady ! how very indiscreet ! Just like 
your kind heart, to stay out all night nursing a whimsical 
old woman, instead of taking your rest, with such a day 
^s this before you. And alack, how worn your ladyship does 
look. Will your ladyship lie down and sleep for an hour, 
and then take a warm bath and a cup of coffee before com- 
mencing your ladyship’s bridal toilet ? There will be plenty 
of time.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


71 


“ No, Maberly, no, I thank you ; I could not sleep. I will 
go to my dressing-room, and exchange this habit for a loose 
wrapper ; and you may bring me a cup of tea.” 

“ Yes, my lady. Will your ladyship look into the dining- 
room as your ladyship goes up ? Mounseer, the French cook 
that Colonel Hastings brought down, has laid the breakfast 
most magnificent, my lady,” said the maid, throwing open 
a pair of folding-doors on her right, and revealing a fine 
dining-hall, with a long table and side-boards covered with 
snow-white damask, and sparkling, glowing, and blazing with 
gold plate and crystal glass, while all the pillars that sup- 
ported the arched roof, and all the family portraits that 
graced the walls, were festooned with wreaths of flowers. 

“ It is very well,” said Laura, languidly, as she passed on 
her way up the stairs. 

She entered her dressing-room, when a beautiful vision 
met her view. Upon a centre-table, covered with a white 
velvet embroidered cloth, were displayed the magnificent 
bridal presents offered by the friends of Lady Etheridge. 

“ Do but see, my lady, if your ladyship is equal to it, what 
splendid offerings ! All these came last night, or this morn- 
ing. I hope they are arranged to your ladyship’s satisfaction. 
This really royal set of diamonds, my lady, came last night, 
with Mr. Hastings’s compliments. This other set of oriental 
pearls, my lady, were left with Colonel Hastings’s respects. 
This dressing-case of ebony, with all its appointments of solid 
gold, was an offering from Lady Dornton. This superb 
work box ” 

“ There, cease, Maberly. I see all these things. I admire 
them, and I acknowledge the kindness of my friends ; but I 
am very tired ; help me to undress.” 

“ Yes, my lady; but just lift up your eyes and look upon 
that Indian shawl I If that splendid shawl is not enough to 
restore strength to the fainting, I am no jirdge of ladies nor 
shawls. That comes from your ladyship’s cousin, Lord Sea- 
forth, who brought it from Constantincrple himself, no doubt.” 

“It is very rich and rare. There, Maberly, give me my 
dressing-gown.” 

my lady; and, while you are resting and drinking 


72 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


youl tea, just feast your ladyship’s eyes upon that bridal 
dress and veil ; and see this wreath of orange blossoms, with 
the real perfume- in them, such as the French only can 
make.” 

“Yes, yes, Maberly, it is all very beautiful, no doubt; but 
1 have now other things to occupy m}^ thoughts.” 

“ Other things, my lady ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; I am momentarily expecting Colonel and Mr. 
Hastings. When they arrive, show Colonel Hastings into the 
* drawing-room, and Mr. Hastings into the library, and come 
and let me know. And now leave me. I wish to be alone.” 

“Yes, my lady,” said the wondering abigail, as she left the 
room. 

“ Strange I oh, most strange ! but yesterday Lady Ether- 
idge of Swinburne, the mistress of all this vast estate, the 
betrothed of Albert Hastings, and to day — to day — only 
Laura Elmer, the daughter of the village laundress ! Yet 
still the betrothed of Albert Hastings ! The betrothed of 
Albert Hastings! That was the dearest title I ever had I I 
have that still I Oh, thanks be to heaven, amid all the wreck 
and ruin of my fortune, I have that precious title still 1 Will 
he be faithful in my fallen fortune ? Yes I yes 1 Oh, trai- 
toress that I should be to doubt him for a moment. Yes, he 
will be faithful I He never loVed me for my rank or fortune ! 
He loves me for myself I Upon the rock of my husband’s 
love I may repose, for I know he will never change with 
changed fortune 1 He will throw his strong arm around me 
against the world I Had this calamity fallen upon him, and 
stripped him of rank and wealth, and name and fame, I should 
have loved him even more deeply for his misfortunes. It 
should have been the happiness of my life to make him for- 
get them. I judge his noble heart by mine ! He will be 
faithful I Do your worst, fate I Strip me of my rank and 
wealth, and name and fame, and friends, and all external 
goods ! You cannot touch my heart, where, safe as a jewel 
ill its casket, lies the treasure of my life, the love of Albert 
Hastings I” mused Laura, as she sat amid the transitory 
splendor of her dressing-room. 

“ My lady, Mr. Hastings waits your ladyship’s pleasure 
’n the librarv,” said a footman,- opening the door. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 73 

Very well, Williams. Precede and announce me,” said 
his mistress, rising and leaving the dressing-room. 

“Will he be faithful ?” she mused, as she passed along th3 
tails communicating with the library. “Will he be faithful ? 
I shall know now ! — nay, do now I My life — my soul on his 
fidelity I He will be faithful !” 

And, with this inspiring word upon her glowing lips, and 
with this thought lighting up her eloquent face, she entered 
the library, and stood in the presence of him who held her 
fate in his hands — Albert Hastings. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE TEST OF TRUE LOVE. 


The stricken is silent ! — 

She stands by him novr, 

And her pulse beats no quicker, 

Nor crimson her brow ! 

The small hand that trembled 
When last in his own, 

Lies patient and folded, 

And colder than stone. 

Of her love the angels 
In heaven might tell, 

While his would be whispered 
With shudders in hell . — Elizabeth Whittier. 

Mr. Hastings was pacing the floor, and turned to greet 
her, exclaiming : 

“ My worshipped Laura ” when something in the ex- 

pression of that queenly brow, and those steady, luminous 
eyes, stopped him. Looking wistfully in her face, he said : 

“Something has happened. Lady Etheridge. You com- 
manded the presence of Colonel Hastings and myself, and we 
are here at your orders. Speak, deaf Laura, and say, can 
we serve you ?” 

“ You are right. Something has happened. Something 
of such grave import that I deem it necessary to communi- 


74 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


y 

cate it to you before our marriage proceeds,” she replied, 
gravelj' and sweetly, as she took a seat at the table, and 
motioned him to take another. 

He turned very red, and sank into a chair, dreading to 
hear her next words, as visions of certain gambling and 
other debts of honor and of <?ishonor, arose before him. 

Then resting her head upon her hand, and speaking slowly, 
she continued : 

“ Within the last twelve hours, Mr. Hastings, I have made 
a discovery which may — I cannot tell yet whether it will — ■ 
separate us forever.” 

“ Lady Etheridge,” he exclaimed, a deeper flush mounting 
to. his brow, “I trust that you have permitted no enemy to 
calumniate my character in your presence.” 

She looked up in surprise and perplexity. So foreign to 
her noble nature was the low vice of listening to. the slan- 
derer. 

“ 1 beg your pardon, Mr. Hastings. I do not quite under- 
stand you,” she said. 

“ Laura, I have enemies — bitter, malignant, unrelenting, 
and unscrupulous enemies — who would dash my present cup 
of happiness from my lips, and move heaven and earth to 
ruin me — who, to effect their purpose, would not hesitate to 
abuse your ear with calumnies against me.” 

.“No enemy of yours has ever come beneath my roof; no 
slanderer would dare to breathe your name in my presence,” 
she answered, with a certain noble and gentle dignity peculiar 
to herself. 

“Then, my cherished Laura, what is it? You spoke of 
having made a discovery, or rather a supposed discovery, 
that miglit — but never shoOld — separate us forever. Now, 
dear Laura, what is the nature of this supposed discovery ?” 

“It concerns myself, Mr. Hastings; and possibly you, as 
you are interested in me.” She imused and sighed. 

“A discovery that concerns you, dear Laura ? I need not 
repeat that it can never, whatever its nature may be, separate 
us, as you seem to think possible ; but explain, my dear 
Laura. I long to share your secret,” he said, drawing nearer 
to her, and taking her hand in his own. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


75 


“Ah ! how can I ever inform you, Albert Hastings ? Yet 
why do I hesitate ? Whence comes this reluctance to speak 
of a misfortune for which I am in no degree responsible ? Is 
it possible that, unconsciously, I cherish in my bosom a lurk- 
ing pride of caste, that shrinks from acknowledging to-day 
the humiliating fact that must be made public to-morrow ? 
Or do I doubt your constancy under the trying ordeal ? I 
know not ; but this weakness must be overcome,” she said, 
speaking more to her own soul than to another. 

He sat — now that his selfish fears were allayed — listening 
with attentive courtesy, while she continued : 

“ Mr. Hastings, whom do you take me to be ? You believe 
me to be — as until last night I believed myself to be — Laura 
Etheridge, Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne.” 

“Assuredly,” replied Mr. Hastings in surprise, privately 
asking himself, “ What is this ? Has she jilted me ? Is she 
privately married to some earl or duke, who has raised her a 
step or two in the peerage, and covered her title with his 
own ?” Her next words showed him his mistake. 

“ I am not so. No drop of the blood of Etheridge runs in 
my veins,” she said, calmly. 

“ Laura ! Lady Etheridge I In the name of all the saints 
in heaven, what do you mean ?” he said, startled from all 
his imposed calmness by sheer astonishment, as though he 
thought she had suddenly gone mad. 

“ I mean just what I have said. I am no Etheridge. I 
am simply Laura Elmer, the daughter of the late game- 
keeper,” she continued, with something like the seeming 
cruelty, but real mercy, wherewith the surgeon firmly uses 
the probing-knife. 

“Laura! lady I madam! What is this — this accursed 
thing that you tell me ? It cannot, it shall not be true,” 
he cried, in great excitement. 

“It is perfectly true. Albert Hastings, you have heard 
of such events as neglected infants, put out to nurse, being 
changed by the nurse, who, after some interval of time, foists 
upon the friends of her little charge, her own offspring.” 

He did not, he could not reply. He could only gaze upon 
her, with eyeballs strained outward as though they would 
burst their sockets. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 




^‘Mr. Hastings, the infant heiress of Swinburne Castle was 
just sujh a wronged child. Losing her mother when she was 
but a few weeks old, she was intrusted to a confidential but 
disaffected female servant. Alas ! that I should have to 
speak thus of my poor mother. She was left in charge of 
this highly-trusted woman, while her widowed father went 
abroad to dissipate his grief. When, at the end of a few 
monms, her father returned, and claimed his infant, this mis- 
guided woman, from motives of revenge for a bitter wrong, 
imposed upon him her own child, myself.” 

“ Good heaven of heavens ! Am I mad or dreaming !” 
ejaculated Albert Hastings. 

“ That is the question I asked myself twelve hours ago ; 
but I am now calm and reasonable.” 

“ It cannot be true. It is impossible. Who has abused 
your noble mind with such a ridiculous fabrication ?” 

“No one. The woman, full of remorse and believing her 
self to be dying, sent for me last night and made a full con- 
fession, bringing many proofs of the truth of her story.” 

“It is impossible, I repeat! It is impossible, I insist! 
The woman is either crazy or designing. She has told you 
an impudent and absurd falsehood I No strange child could 
ever be foisted upon a father as his own. It is utterly and 
forever impossible I Nature herself cries out against such a 
deception,” exclaimed Mr. Hastings, trembling for the rich 
inheritance of his promised bride. 

“Ah I Albert Hastings I you must know that such a fraud 
is not impossible, but that it has been more than once com- 
mitted. And in this instance deception was temptingly easy. 
The infants that were changed were of the same age — three 
weeks old — and infants of that tender age all look alike. 
The father went away for many months, and when he re- 
lumed it was as easy to give him one child as the other, so 
that the other was kept out of his sight.” 

“ Good heavens ! Lady Etheridge, you seem absolutely to 
be a partisan and an advocate of this otherwise preposterous 
claimant.” 

“I am a partisan of the truth, an advocate of the right, 
wherever I fi.-'d them. The validity of this woman’s state- 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


77 


mcnt is palpable to me. Her earnest manner, believing her- 
self to be near death, the vraisemblance of her story, and the 
fact tliat the young girl, whom I have seen, bears a strong 
resemblance to all the family portraits, while it is notorious 
that I resemble none of them.” 

“ Lady Etheridge — for such you are, and so I shall call you — 
you cannot be so ignorant of the usages of law and society as 
to imagine that an obscure claimant, unsupported by strongei 
proof than that which has been advanced, and unaided by 
money or influence, can have any chance against the wealth, 
connection, and power of the present baroness.” 

“ Mr. Hastings, I feel an inward conviction that that nurse’s 
story is true, and that girl’s claims are just, and I would die 
rather than use my position and power against her just 
rights.” 

“ Lady Etheridge ! my adored Laura I pause I consider I 
and if ever you honored with your priceless affections the 
humble man before you, leave this matter in my hands. In a 
few hours more I shall be your proud and happy husband — 
in a position to protect you. Leave it to me, then, to com- 
promise with these people, and settle their preposterous 
claims,” exclaimed Albert Hastings, earnestly. 

While he spoke, she looked at him with a countenance in 
which surprise, incredulity and doubt gradually gave place 
to an expression of deep pain. 

It needs a great crisis to bring out character. A smooth 
and plausible hypocrite may go on for years, “a living lie,” 
in the midst of his most intimate friends, until some magic 
touchstone of circumstances reveals his true nature. Women 
are said to possess such fine instincts as to know by intuition 
the character of the man who is a suitor for their affections, 
and to shrink instinctively from the false and vicious. But 
this feminine attribute has been very much exaggerated in 
the description, for every day good girls — despite their fine 
instincts that should warn them — marry worthless men, as 
good men not unfrequently marry worthless women. 

Ladv Etheridge had been wooed and won by, perhaps, the 
most heartless, selfish, and unprincipled man of his time. No 
fine instmct of her noble and confiding nature had warned her 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


78 ' 

that Le was a villain. It remained for the trial of a great 
crisis to test his character. And now this test was applied, 
and his true nature was beginning to reveal itself. He was 
showing himself willing to use the advantages of wealth, con- 
nection and power to crush the just claims of a poor, friend- 
less and helpless claimant ; or else to take advantage of the 
poverty, friendlessness, and helplessness of the claimant, to 
buy up her right and force her to silence 

jSo wonder that she regarded him with a face in which 
astonishment, doubt, and incredulity gradually changed to 
an expression of deep pain. 

“You consent to this. Lady Etheridge. You will intrust 
this matter to me, to be arranged after I shall have become 
your husband.” 

“Nay; pardon me, Mr. Hastings. I must become your 
wife in my true colors. I must resign my rank and title, too 
long wrongfully, though most ignorantly, held. The hand I 
give you must be clean and honest, holding no possession to 
which it has no right,” replied the lady, sadly, but firmly. 

“Laura Etheridge,” said Mr. Hastings, coldly, “your sym- 
pathies and affections appear to me to side with any rather 
than with me. You seem willing to resign, with a culpable 
levity, a title, rank and fortune, as precious to me as they 
should be to yourself.” 

“ Nay ; not so, Albert. I, too, have greatly valued the 
advantages of a position that I so long believed to be mine, 
and, if I resign them now, it is because I cannot keep them 
and keep honor as well. Oh, Albert Hastings I I was this 
^morning stripped of name and title, rank and wealth. I stand 
before you as poor as the poorest cottage-girl in our valley, 
having but one treasure, the priceless treasure of my li e’s 
unsullied honor ! Ah 1 tempt me not to barter it for Swin 
burne Castle and barony, with all their appurtenances,” she 
pleaded, fervently, clasping her hands, and gazing appealingly 
into his face. 

“ Tut, tut I my dearest Laura ; you talk like a fanatic. 
Now, is there a man or woman living who would yield up a 
possession like the barony and castle of Swinburne without 
trying to crush, or compromise with, or buy up the preten- 
Bions of their opponents ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


79 


“ Yes,” she answered, gravely and sweetly. “ There is 
such a woman ; and I — bereft of every thing but honor — am 
she; and there is, I hope, such a man, and you are the one.” 

“Not 1, by my soul. Lady Etheridge I I beg your par^ 
don, my adored Laura ; but you shall not impoverish your- 
self, or discrown your noble brow of the coronet it so well 
becomes. Fortunately, your generous confidence invested 
me with the possession of your landed estate and personal 
property by deed of gift. I shall deem it right to hold and 
defend the same against every claimant. More fortunately 
still, I have your promise to become my wife. For your 
own good now, sweet one, I shall hold you to that promise. 
And when once you have vowed love, honor, and obedience 
to me, though I shall always remain your most devoted slave, 
yet in one particular I shall exact, for your own benefit, the 
performance of your own vow of obedience. I shall require 
you to be perfectly passive in this matter, and leave the set- 
tling of these people to me. Sweet Laura ! it is near the 
hour that we should be at the church, and I long to call you 
mine,” said Mr. Hastings, rising. She also arose, saying — 

“Albert Hastings, do not be deceived. I shall perform all 
my promises and vows, if, under the circumstances, you con- 
tinue to wish it; but in that you will not marry Lady Ether- 
idge of Swinburne, but plain Laura Elmer, the game-keeper’s 
daughter; while Rose, the reputed child of the village laun- 
dress, is the true Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne !” 

“Rose! Rose Elmer I is 67?e the party ?” exclaimed Mr. 
Hastings, falling back several paces, and gazing in astonish- 
ment upon his betrothed. 

“Yes; gentle Rose, miscalled Elmer, is the party. Do 
you know her ?” 

“ Mrs. Elmer is my laundress. But you never told me that 
they were the parties !” 

“ It was inadvertence. I was not aware that I had not 
named them,” said the lady, while her betrothed turned ^and 
walked up and down the floor, murmuring within himself — 

“Rose, Rose Elmer, Baroness Etheridge I It. may turn 

out so ! it may ! and if it does ” Here he stole a look at 

one or two of the famdy portraits. “And she is wondrously 


80 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


like the family I ‘a softened image’ of those grim old BarcnsI 
Strange, I never noticed the likeness before ! It is certainly 
very striking 1 And now, if I should marry for her fortune 
this Laura whom I do not love, and afterwards discover that 
Swinburne belongs to Rose, whom I do love — why, what a 
fool I shall have proved myself I I must not commit myself I 
I must gain time to see how this will end. I am su e of 
either of the women — that’s a comfort — and I shall marry the 
Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, whichever that shall prove 
to be.” 

Here he stole a look at Laura. 

She was still seated at the table, with her elbows resting 
on its top, her noble brow supported by her hand, and her 
large, earnest eyes cast down as in troubled thought. She 
was ruminating, probably, over the strange phases of her 
lover’s chaiacter, as brought out by the crisis. 

She raised her eyes to meet his perplexed glance. 

“ Lady Etheridge,” he artfully began, “ I think you are 
right. As we cannot agree upon the proper course to be 
pursued in this matter of the new claim, as you differ widely 
from me, it is best, perhaps, that I should leave your con- 
science untrammelled in this action.” 

“ Oh, Albert Hastings, how much I thank you 1” she ex- 
claimed, fervently, dismissing her late distressing doubt as to 
his integrity of purpose, and cordially holding out her hand 
to him. 

He took it somewhat coldly, pressed it slightly, dropped it, 
and continued : 

“And in order to leave you a moral free agent to act as 
you please in this affair, it is necessary that I make the great 
sacrifice of offering to defer our marriage-day until this mat- 
ter is finally settled.” 

She raised her eyes to his with one long, wistful gaze, as 
though she would have read his soul. And she did read it, 
and as slie saw the^dark character.s of selfishness and du])licity 
inscribed therein, her eloquent’countenance went through all 
the changes of astonishment, wonder, doubt and conviction, 
settling at last into an expression of bitter disappointment, 
shame, and pain — for him, not for herself — for him, that he 
should have fallen so far below her estimate of his cJiaracte*:’ 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


81 


She had no word of vain reproach for him. She under- 
etO 'd at once his whole policy and in that policy she learned 
liis nature. He had endeavored to persuade her to use her 
power to crush or buy up a claim, priceless as it was just, and 
failhig to do so, he had determined to postpone their mar- 
riage, and wait the issue of the contested claim — could any 
one doubt with what final purpose ? 

“You do not answer me. Lady Etheridge! Perhaps the 
preposition is distasteful to you he said, indulging himself 
in a slight touch of irony. 

“ On the contrary, I thank you for making it, Mr. Hastings. 
It relieves me for the present, and very much simplifies my 
course of action,” she calmly replied. 

“Oh, perdition! I do not wish to break with her finally 
and entirely. I wish to have it in my power to marry her, 
should she be confirmed in her present position, which I 
really think the probable termination of this affair. I must 
soothe her, and make her understand that our marriage is de- 
ferred, not broken off. Nor shall it be broken off unless she 
is positively proved to be the laundress's daughter,” thought 
Albert Hastings. Then, addressing his betrothed, he said : 

“ My dearest Laura, you will see that my proposal leaves 
you free to act as you please in this affair of the contested in- 
heritance, but it does not release you from your marriage 
engagement, to which, fairest lady, I must still hold you.” 

She was very pale and firm as she replied — 

“Understand me, Albert Hastings. In this great crisis in 
my life, you propose to defer our marriage. I accept your 
proposition, and defer our union forever. But you wish to 
wait the issue of what you consider a doubtful case. I can 
save you time and trouble, by telling you at once what that 
issue will be. Rose Elmer will be declared Baroness Ether- 
idge of Swinburne. Mr. Hastings, you are free from this 
moment forever.” 

“ But, Lady^theridge ! Laura ! I cannot and will not con- 
sent to your breaking with me in this manner. I only wished 
to postpone our marriage until ” 

“You should know whether I should be confirmed'in my 
inheritance of the title and estates of Swinburne. Pardon 
5 


82 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


me, Albert Hastings; but poor as I have grown within the 
last few hours, I cannot keep myself attendant upon your 
])leasure, to be accepted or rejected. You are free, Albert 
Hastings ! so am I ! Farewell ! The Lord knows, I wish 
you a better heart and a nobler spirit ! Once more, farewell,” 
she said, rising to leave the room. 

He seized her hand and forced her to sit down, wdiile, 
with all the impassioned eloquence of his gifted but perfidious 
mind he besought her to reconsider her decision — to give him 
time. 

“ To what end ? To find myself rejected at last, when 
Rose Elmer shall have been declared to be Lady Etheridge ? 
Oh ! Albert Hastings, spare me that humiliation !” 

“ Laura, you will be sorry for this !” he cried, passionately. 

“ I know it. I do not pretend to strength, or hardness, or 
coldness that does not belong to me. I shall be sorry for — 
for this loss of love. I am sorry even now ; but my sorrow 
is, and shall be, a thing between myself and my Creator. 
Once more I wish you well, Mr. Hastings. Good-bye.” 

And before he could again prevent her, she bowed and left 
the room. 

Mr. Albert Hastings made a gesture of fierce impatience, 
and began walking rapidly up and, down the floor, exclaim 
ing— 

“ Here is a pretty dilemma ! If she should, contrary to 
her expectations, be confirmed in her possessions ? But ) 
must try to prevent that. Her final and entire rejection of 
me has at least decided my course. Rose Elmer’s prospects 
look well. Now, then, I shall embrace the cause of Rose 
f]lmer. I shall hasten to her side, and persuade her to 
marry me, before she suspects her good fortune ; and then I 
.hall devote time, money, and interest to the establishment ef 
her rights.” 

And so saying, Albert Hastings left the castle, leaving to 
Lady Etheridge the task of explaining to her guardian the 
reason why their marriage was broken off. 

On leaving the castle grounds he took tho road to the vil- 
lage, and bent his steps to seek Roso Elmer 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


88 


CHAPTER yi. 

THE LAST TRIAL. 


There is a calm where grief o’erflows, 

A refuge from the worst of woes; 

It comes when pleasure’s dream is o’er, 

And hope, the charmer, charms uo more. 

^’Tis where the heart is yrnng till dry , 

/ And not a tear bedews the eye. 

V ’Tis where we see the tranquil gaze, 

\While not a smile the lip betrays. — Moore. 

Lady Etheridge — we will continue to call her by this 
familiar name until she is legally deprived of it — Lady Ether- 
idge stood where Mr. Hastings had left her, buried in 
thought, until she was aroused by the sudden recollection 
that Colonel Hastings was awaiting her in the crimson draw- 
ing-room. 

Then, calmly and majestically, she left the library, crossed 
the spacious hall, and entered the presence of her guardian. 

She found him reclining indolently in a lounge chair; but 
on seeing her enter, he arose and came forward to meet her, 
with some gay salutation upon his lips, when the marble 
whiteness of her face and the stern rigidity of her features 
startled him. 

“ Good Heaven, Lady Etheridge, what has happened 
he exclaimed, taking her hand, and putting her into an easy- 
chair. 

“ The marriage intended between Mr. Hastings and myself 
is broken off by mutual consent,” replied the lady, quietly. 

“ The marriage between yourself and Albert Hastings 
broken olf. Lady Etheridge I You astound me ! And at the 
last moment, too I It cannot be so I It is madness ! just 
madness I It cannot be so ! It must not — shall 'not be so ! 
Some absurd lover’s quarrel, I suppose ! It must be made up 
immediately ! Where is Albert ? He will make every apol- 
ogy, every concession, I am sure ! Where is he ? I will bring' 
him to vour feet immediately ! Good heaven, there is no 
time to be lost either !” exclaimed Colonel Hastings in con- 


84 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


Bternation and eager impatience to find his son, as he hastened 
to the door. 

Stay,” said Lady Etheridge. “ This is no lover’s quarrel, 
as you seem to think. Am I a woman likely to be engaged 
in such a vain matter ? 'N'o ; between Mr. Hastings and my- 
self there has been nothing so childish. It is a far graver 
matter. ” 

“ In the name of all the demons then, girl, what is it ? I 
beg your pardon, Lady Etheridge, I am an old man, lately 
your guardian, and am apt to forget myself when provoked. 
But what is the matter ?” 

“ I have, within the last few hours made a discovery of 
which I felt in honor bound to inform Mr. Hastings, leaving 
it to his discretion, under the new circumstances, to complete 
or not our marriage engagement. He proposes a middle 
course — to postpone our wedding and wait for events. I 
could not accept his proposal, and so, as I told you, our mar- 
riage engagement has been broken off by mutual consent.” 

“A discovery I What discovery can be so important as to 
cause the postponement or annullment of your betrothal, even 
at the last moment ! Lady Etheridge, as your oldest friend 
and your late guardian, I should have been the first to be in- 
formed of this difficulty,” said Colonel Hastings, in an excess 
of agitation, that scarcely seemed justified, even by the grave 
importance of a broken marriage. 

“ I deemed my affianced husband to be the proper person 
to be first advised of a discovery that so deeply affected my 
circumstances, and his interests.” 

“ In heaven’s name. Lady Etheridge, what is the nature of 
this discovery ?” inquii’ed Colonel Hastings, moving about 
restlessly, and scarcely able to restrain his agitation. 

“ It is simply that I, called Laura Etheridge, am not the 
heiress of Swinburne I” 

The effect this announcement had upon Colonel Hastings 
could scarcely be explained as astonishment, doubt, or disap- 
pointment. It seemed rather the consternation, terror, and 
dismay of detected guilt. He dropped into a chair, wiped 
the cold drops of perspiration from his blanched face, made 
several ineffectual attempts to speak, and then gasped forth : 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 85 

**For heaven's sake, tell me ! How did the existence of 
this other heir come to your knowledge ?” 

“ By the confession of the nurse, to whom was confided the 
care of the infant heiress of Swinburne, and who, alas ! was 
tempted to betray her trust, and palm off upon the wifeless 
baron her own child as his daughter.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Colonel Hastings, in perplexity, but 
losing a portion of the abject terror that had lately and un- 
accountably shaken him. ' 

“ It is a sad story for me to tell ! It compels my tongue 
to the unkind task of disinheriting myself, and to the harder 
and more cruel one of criminating my mother.” 

“ Your mother I a purer and holier woman never lived 
than your mother !” exclaimed the old man. 

“A purer and holier woman than the late Baroness Ether- 
idge never lived, you would say, and I can well believe it ; 
but she was not my riiother.” 

“ Tah ! tail 1 tah ! my dear girl ; your head is turned with 
reading romances,” exclaimed Colonel Hastings, in a sort o‘ 
cheerful tone, for his courage and spirits were rapidly re- 
turning. 

“I wish that you could convince me of that; but permit 
me to tell you all the circumstances, from that moment, 
yesterday, at dusk, that I was summoned to the bedside of 
Mrs. Elmer, to the present, and then you will be better able 
to judge of the truth of the statement.” 

“ Go on, my dear Laura ; but I warn you that I prepare 
myself to listen only to a romance,” said Colonel Hastings, 
in a gay voice, for he had quite recovered his self-possession. 

Lady Etheridge commenced and narrated the whole story 
as she had received it from the nurse. 

Colonel Hastings, as he listened, grew graver and graver, 
and when she had concluded, he paused a long time in deep 
thought, and then said : 

“ This is a much more serious matter than I had imagined, 
Lady Etheridge. This newly sprung-up claimant, supported 
by the dying declaration of the nurse Magdalene, is more 
terrible than we like. What do you think of it, Lady 
Etheridge 1” 


86 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ I think the nurse’s story, told upon what she supposes to 
be her death-bed, and supported by the strongest corrobora- 
tive evidence as it is — to be undeniably true. And for my- 
self, I shall make no opposition to the claims of the rightful 
heiress.” 

“ Lady Etheridge ! you amaze me ! You absolutely speak 
as an advmcate for your, opponent.” 

“ I speak as an advocate of truth.” 

“ But what corroborative evidence is there for the truth of 
this woman’s story — dying declaration though she may con- 
sider it to be ?” 

“Abundant evidence. Do you, Colonel Hastings, imagine 
that I, called the last Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, would 
resign the inheritance of this old and vast estate, did I not 
consider the evidence of the new claimant’s right to be unde- 
niable ? Never !” 

“ But this corroborative evidence. What is it ?” 

“ This. First, that there are scores of persons who can 
prove that the infant heiress of Swinburne was confided to 
the care of Magdalene Elmer, the game-keeper’s widow. 
Sfe>condly, that there are hundreds who can prove that at that 
time Magdalene Elmer had a child of her own, of the same 
age as her nursling. Thirdly, the same witnesses can prove 
that these two babes remained in the exclusive charge of 
Magdalene Elmer from the day of their birth to that upon 
which both were six months old. That then one of them was 
given up to the baron as his heiress. The child imposed 
upon the baron has no lineament of the Etheridge family, but 
strongly resembles the plebeian Elmers ; while the true heir- 
ess, suppressed by the nurse, bears no resemblance to her 
foster n.other, but is, in every respect, ‘ a softened image’ of 
the old Baron Etheridge. Believe me. Colonel Hastings, tht 
claims of this young maiden are just. I feel within my heart 
a strong conviction that they are so.” 

“ Lady Etheridge, I know you well enough to be sure that 
if once you suppose the claims of another to be just, however 
opposed to your own interests those claims may be, you will 
at once admit them. I must see this woman, and, as a magis- 
trate, 1 must take her statement officially, unon oath ; and, as 


THE BRIDAL EVE. ’ 87 

fou say — awkward as it may be — your marriage with my son 
must be postponed.” 

Our engagement, Colonel Hastings, must be annulled,” 
said Lady Etlieridge, with gentle dignity. 

Well, well. We will talk of that at some future time. 
Meanwhile, we will direct good Mrs. Montgomery to explain 
lo our friends that, from unforeseen circumstances, the mar- 
riage is necessarily put off, and we will go together to Mrs. 
Kilmer’s cottage, where I will cross-examine her,” said the 
Colonel, rising and touching the bell. 

A footman answered the summons. 

“ Desire Mrs. Montgomery to come hither, and then order 
the horses to be put to the close carriage, and brought round 
immediately,” said Colonel Hastings. 

The man bowed and retired ; and in a few moments the 
door opened, and a tall, dignified, elderly lady, attired in a 
black satin dress and white lace turban, entered the room. 

“Good-morning, Mrs. Montgomery. We have ventured to 
request your presence here upon rather a sorrowful occasion. 
We have just received intelligence that an old and intimate 
friend of our family is lying at the point of death. This ne- 
tessitates a temporary postponement of the marriage, as Lady 
Etheridge and myself must immediately repair to the death- 
bed of our friend. You will, therefore, Mrs. Montgomery, 
be so good as to tako upon yourself the task of explaining to 
those friends who intend to honor our breakfast, the sad 
reason why our festivity is deferred,” said Colonel Hastings. 

To say that Mrs. Montgomery was thunderstruck at this 
announcement would give the reader but a faint idea of its 
effect upon her. She was stricken dumb for at least two 
minutes ; but on recovering her speech she set her tongue at 
work, “to make fast atonement for its first delay.” Colonel 
Hastings, however, at once cut her short, by observing that 
Lady Etheridge had not a moment to spare, as Death was nc 
respecter of persons, and would not wait for the mightiest on 
earth. And then, with the stately courtesy of the olden time, 
he conducted his ward to the door of her dressing-room. 

And in balf-an-hour afterwards. Colonel Hastings and Lady 
Etheridge were rolling along in the close carriage on their 
way the house of the laundress. 


88 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Upon reaching the narrow, dusty street, and the co-ttage 
occupied by the poor woman. Colonel Hastings put a question 
to Lady Etheridge : 

“ Does this young girl — this Miss Rose Elmer — know any 
thing of the claim set up in her favor 

“ 1 think not. Up to this morning she certainly did not 
\Vhether she has since been informed, I do not know. If she 
is with my mother, as I suppose she is, we tan easily judge 
by her countenance when we meet her.” 

“ If she does not yet know, it will be best for all concerned 
that she should not be told just yet, or until we have a little 
more light on the subject.” 

“ Why ?” inquired the frank and straightforward Lady 
tltheridge. 

“ Because, to inform her thus prematurely would put you 
in a false position.” 

“ Do not think of my feelings ; think of the girl’s rights.” 

“ Well, then, in that view of the case, it would be cruel at 
this uncertain stage of affairs to raise in her simple bosom 
visions of ambition that may never be realized. It would be 
enough, in fact, to turn the poor girl’s brain.” 

Lady Etheridge did not at once reply ; she could not at 
first decide upon the propriety or impropriety of what the 
colonel advised. At last she said : 

“You may be right. Colonel Hastings. I cannot trust to 
my own judgment in a case were I am so deeply interested. 
But one thing I beseech of you — do not urge me to hold my 
present position an hour longer than may be necessary ; for I 
feel within myself a strong conviction that the claims set up 
for that young girl are just.” ^ 

“ We will see that. Lady Etheridge. I must converse with 
this woman, submit her for examination to a physician, to de- 
cide upon the soundness of her mind, and then take her state- 
ment upon oath,” replied Colonel Hastings, as the carriage 
Slopped. 

They alighted and entered the house. 

The sick woman lay where Lady Etheridge had left her 
some hours before. She was attended by Rose and a neigh- 
bor who watched with her 


THE B K I D A L EVE. 


89 


The eyes of tne visitors turned first upon Hose a glance of 
inquiry, to see whether as yet she knew or suspected the 
possible great fortune in store for her. 

But no ; that drooping form, pale face, and those tearful 
eyes spoke of any thing rather than of pleasure and unex- 
pected trium})h. 

Laura and Colonel Hastings exchanged a look which said 
plainly, “ She knows nothing.” 

Laura then advanced to greet the maiden, wdio was about 
respectfully tc courtesy to the baroness, who immediately pre- 
sented her to Colonel Hastings. And it must be admitted 
that the cunning old courtier bowed to the poor cottage-girl 
with some forecasting respect due to the possible future Lady 
Etheridge of Swinburne. 

The neighbor arose, made her obeisance, and gave way to 
the distinguished visitors. 

As Laura took the place by the head of the bed, the sleep- 
ing-woman awoke, and, seeing her, said : 

“Ah, you have returned, as you promised I I knew you 
would. Laura I Laura ! take my hand, my child. Forget 
your past grandeur, or regard it only as a brilliant dream, 
and take my hand, my child. I will not ask it long. Are 
we alone ?” 

“ Xo, mother ; Rose is here, and one of your neighbors.” 

“ Send them away.” 

This short conversation was carried on in a very low voice 
unheard by any one in the room. 

Laura arose and spoke to Rose and to the neighbor, both 
of whom immediately left the house. She then returned to 
the bedside of the sick woman, who again eagerly clasped and 
held her hand, saying : 

“ Oh, Laura I Laura ! do not feel coldly towards me. Let 
me have the comfort of my child’s affection in the last few 
hours of my life. Oh, Laura I Laura ! all these years my 
h('art has yearned to you with such a mighty, unquenchable 
thirst for your presence and your love ; and when I have 
lieard all the people praise the goodness, and wisdom, and 
bounty of Lady Etheridge, I have said to myself, ‘ That is my 
daughter. Ho haughty, cold-blooded and selfish Etheridg 


90 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


ever was good, wise, or bountiful. It is because she is my 
daughter 1’ and when I have seen you passing through the 
village in state and grandeur, and joy, I have not dared to 
linger and gaze upon your form, lest I should rush out and 
catch you to my bosom. Do not be cold to me now ; indeed, 
it would break my heart, and cut short even the few hours I 
have to live. Do not shrink from me now, my only child 
pleaded the woman, in a voice of such deep sorrow that 
Lady Etheridge bent down and tenderly kissed her, saying : 

“ I do not, mother. I have come to stay with you till the 
last.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Laura I” cried the wretched woman, 
pressing her hand with spasmodic haste. “And you forgive 
me ?” 

“ Forgive you I for what injury, poor mother ?” 

“ For hurling you down from rank, and wealth, and love, 
to poverty, want, and desolation.” 

“ In depriving me of those possessions you take from me 
that to which I have no right. It is an act of justice ; and, 
dear mother, it must be completed in due form, so as to be 
available to her who has the right to all those advantages 
which I must resign.” 

“ Laura, I cannot be at peace until you say that you for- 
give me. I feel that I have cruelly wronged you, in permit- 
ting you to grow up in the false position of a lady of rank 
and fortune, followed, courted, idolized as such, only to feel 
more bitterly the curse of poverty, scorn, and desertion ; for, 
Laura, the world abandons the unfortunate. The prosperous 
have flatterers, friends, and lovers to share their prosperity ; 
the wretched have nothing but their wretchedness. Laura, 
this is so — even with you, my child. This was to have been 
your wedding-day ; but the hour is passed, the marriage is 
broken off, the lover is yours no longer. He has forsaken 
you in your adversity. Is this not so, Laura ?” demanded 
the woman, with sudden energy. 

“ The marriage is broken off, d3ar mother. Speak no more 
of this, I do implore you I” 

“ I have caused you that suffering, my poor child. Laura, 
now can you forgive me ? or ho w can I die without your for- 
giveness ?” 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 91 

Poor mother I Forgiveness is a profane word to pass 
from child to parent.” 

“Yet I cannot rest without it, Laura.” 

“ Then take it, with all my heart. If you think that 3^011 
have injured me, take my forgiveness, as freely and as per- 
fectly as I hope for that of heaven !” 

“ I thank and bless you, oh, my child !” 

“But, mother, there is another for whom you must care.” 

“ Yes, Rose. Alas ! Whom have I wronged most, you 
or her ? It is hard to tell. And yet I have fondly loved 
both ; you, because you were my own ; her, because she was 
my foster-child and my constant companion. Yes, and be- 
cause she was so good. Where she got her goodness from I 
do not know. Certainly not from the Etheridges ; probably 
from her mother’s famify.” 

“ But you must not judge all the Etheridges from your sad 
experience of one or two. And now, poor mother, a trial 
awaits you, v/hich I would willingly spare you, if I could do 
so with justice to another. But be strong and patient ; it 
shall be the last trial to which you shall be subjected. It 
will be but short, and when it is over I will remain with you 
as long as you live, and try to perform towards you all the 
duties of a daughter.” 

“ Give me the loee of one, my child. I need it greatly. 
And now what is it 3"Ou would have me do, Laura ?” 

“ The statement that you made to me last night, to be of 
any avail to the true heiress of Swinburne, must be put into 
writing, sworn to, signed, and duly witnessed in the presence 
of a magistrate. Also, it is needful that you submit to an ex- 
amination by a ph3^sician, who will duly testify that you are 
of sound mind when you execute the document.” 

“ I will do all that you wish me, Laura. Let the proper 
p(3rson be brought hither. The sooner the better.” 

Laura beckoned Colonel Hastings, who had retired to tho 
farther end of the room, out of hearing of this conversation. 

When he came to the bedside, she presented him to the 
dying woman, savnng — 

“ Here, mother, is my late guardian. Colonel Hastings, who 
is a magistrate, and who will take all the necessary proceed- 
ings, if you will authorize him. 


92 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ Yes ; certainly. I will be very thankful, sir, if you will 
send for a physician and a lawyer, and any one else whom 
you may think proper to summon, for the purpose of con- 
firming and insuring the validity of the statement that 1 wish 
to make,” said Mrs. Elmer. 

Co'onel Hastings growled an inaudible reply, for he was 
very much perplexed and dissatisfied ; and went out, entered 
the carriage, and drove ofi‘ to bring the proper parties. 

In half an hour he returned with them. 

I will not weary my reader with the details of the formal 
proceedings that occupied the next two or three hours, and 
that confirmed the validity of the dying woman’s statement. 
The whole business was conducted in a manner at once legal 
and confidential. No form was omitted that could go to con- 
firm the evidence ; yet, each member of the party stood 
strictly pledged to the others to keep the secret until proper 
proceedings could be taken upon it. Immediately after the 
signing and witnessing of the document all left the cottage, 
with the exception of Colonel Hastings and Laura, who re- 
mained by the bedside of the patient, who had sunk into a 
sleep of utter exhaustion. 

“ Well, Lady Etheridge. However this may eventually 
result, whoever may be declared the true heiress, of this you 
may rest assured, that, ‘ possession being nine points of the 
law,’ it must, in any case, be months, if not years, before you 
can be compelled to lay down your title, or give up youi 
estate, or leave your home at the castle.” 

“ Colonel Hastings, I do not believe that there is one 
candid person in the world who could witness what we have 
witnessed to-day, and not feel convinced of the truth of my 
mother’s statement, and the rights of Rose to the title and 
estates of Etheridge of Swinburne. I shall not wait to be 
just for the tardy permission of the law. I here and no\v 
solemnly resign in favor of the new claimant all right anc 
title that I may be supposed to have to the barony and 
estates of Swinburne. This is my final resolve. Call me, 
therefore, no longer Lady Etheridge, but, if you are kind, 
call me, as you did in my happy childhood, Laura, for that 
name is mine yet.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


93 


“Well, then, my dear Laura, this is unprecedented conduct 
on your part. You will, perhaps, take a different view of it 
in a day or so ; in the meantime, let us summon some one to 
watch by this woman, and let us return to the castle.” 

“ No; I shall never return to the castle again. *My duty 
is here, by the bedside of my dying mother.” 

“ But, my dear Laura ! how can you stay in this miserable 
abode ? You have not even come prepared to do so.” 

“■The last thing you said is partly true. I am not well pre 
pared to stay. I will therefore beg you, on your return to 
the castle, to direct my woman to pack up my wardrobe — 
not the bridal one — and forward it to me here. It is the last 
service 1 shall ask her to perform. As for my jewelry, books, 
pictures, statues, vases, and articles of vertu, collected in 
Italy and Greece, I must -leave them to the new baroness. 
They were purchased from the resources of the estate, and 
even if this had not been so, they are the least as well as the 
most that I can offer in repayment for all that I have ex- 
pended of hers.” 

“ But, my dear Laura, this is fanaticism, sheer fanaticism ! 
You are not now in a condition to judge what you should do I 
You are unnerved by this sudden shock. You have spent the 
night in watching. You need repose and cool reflection be- 
fore venturing to act in this affair. Let me entreat you to 
return home, retire to your chamber, and take a few hours 
sleep. You will then be in a better condition to think and 
to act.” 

“ I thank you. Colonel Hastings ; but my mind is clear 
enough and strong enough, even now, to know right from 
wrong. I repeat that, after witnessing what we have wit- 
nessed, neither you nor I can have any doubt as to who is 
the true heiress of Swinburne. Under these circumstances, 
J at once resign whatever right or title I may have been 
supposed to have to the barony and castle. To do this 
promptly, and at once, is the only atonement I can make for 
having unwittingly kept the true heiress so long out of her 
rights.” 

“ Well, Laura, I perceive it is useless to combat your reso- 
lution at present, though I deem it a most injudicious one.^ 
And so saymg. Colonel Hastings rose to bid her good-day. 


94 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 




After the departure of the colonel, Laura remained seated 
alone by the bedside of her mother. Notwithstanding the 
tremendous shock of this terrible revolution of her fortune, 
in the midst of the siorm and chaos of its attendant circum- 
stances — in the deep humiliation of her sudden fall from rank.^ 
wealth, and power,. to degradation, want, and helplessness — 
in the sharp pain of wounded affections from the desertion of 
her lover, Laura Elmer preserved the noble calmness of her 
soul I And in all the confusion of misfortune, passion, and 
grief, she saw the line of duty clearly, and followed ii 
bravely I And as she sat there, no longer Baroness Ether- 
idge, of Swinburne, but simply Laura Elmer, no one could 
have gazed upon her pure, calm, noble countenance, and not 
deemed 

“ Her uncrowned womanhood to be tbe royal thing.” 


CHAPTER YIL 

ROSE. 


Oh ! grief beyond all griefs, when fate 

First leaves tbe young heart desolate 

In the wide world, without that only tie, i 

For which it loved to live, or feared to AX^.-f-Moon. 

Whepv Rose Elmer left her mother’s cottage, it must be re- 
membered that she had no knowledge or suspicion of the ex- 
alted fortunes in prospect for her. Her heart was filled with 
grief and despair — grief for her supposed mother’s failing 
mind and body, and despair at the discovered falsehood and 
treachery of her lover. For him whom she had known only 
as William Lovel, her pure affection, honor, and trust, had 
amounted to real faith and worship. AVith the heathenish 
idolatry of a young, warm heart, she had adored him as a 
god. And now to find this idol of her adoration a traitor of 
the deepest dye, who could now woo her under false pre- 
tences and an assumed name, and who, even on his eve of 


THE* BRIDAL EVE. 


95 


marriage with Lady Etheridge, could coolly plot her own 
ruin, so wrung her heart with anguish, and distracted her 
brain with wonder, that her whole nature seemed beaten 
about between madness and death, as a storm-tossed ship be 
tween wind and wave. 

In this mood of mind she left the cottage, and after parting 
with her neighbor at the door of the latter, she walked list- 
lessly down the narrow street, intending to seek the hills 
She had proceeded but a little way beyond the outskirts of 
the town, and had sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree to 
rest for a while, wdien she heard a familiar footstep approach, 
and, looking up, she saw Albert Hastings standing before her 

She started up with the intention of hastening away, when 
he caught her hand, replaced her on her seat, and smilingly 
said — 

“What, my sweet Rose! you broke your appointment 
with me last evening, and now^, on seeing me approach, you 
try to run away. How is that, sweet Rose 

“ When I made that appointment yesterday morning, 
thought that 1 was making it with my own betrothed lover, 
William Level, and not with the affianced husband of Lady 
Etheridge, Mr. Hastings,’’ replied Rose, with more severity 
upon her young brow than any one would have supposed her 
capable of showing. 

“ Mr. Hastings 1 Lady Etheridge ! What is it you mean. 
Rose ? Some one has been slandering me to you.” 

“ No, Mr. Hastings. Thank heaven that no one on earth 
knows our acquaintance except your worthy friend and valet, 
Levere. Thank heaven that none else in this world knows 
the extent of your falsehood and my folly I” 

“ Rose, what, in heaven’s name, is the meaning of this ? 
It seems to me that to-day 1 have fallen into a train of strange 
adventures.” 

“Not so strange either as those you had marked out for 
yourself when you purposed, in the same day, to marry a 
peeress and ruin a peasant. Oh ! against which of the two 
did you meditate the blackest treachery ? Against the un- 
loved lady whom you were about to lead to the altar, or the 
ill-lovod cottager, whom you were alluring to destruction ? 


96 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Good heaven ! what blackness of wickedness ! Stand out of 
my way, sir, and let me pass. Your presence darkens the 
very sunshine to me !” exclaimed the maiden, with a horror 
so real that it could not have been concealed. 

’ “ Rose ! I have twice asked you what is the meaning of 
this attack. I have a right to an answer.’’ 

You shall have it, Mr. Hastings. But first, perhaps, you 
will explain to me how it is, that on this, your wedding-day, 
and hour, you are here questioning me, instead of being at 
the church with Lady Etheridge ?” 

He saw, by her manner and her expression, that she knew 
too much for him to attempt to carry on the deception. He 
felt no other course was possible for him but to tell the truth, 
and defend his conduct as best he might. He said : 

“ Rose, it is true that many months before I knew you and 
love, partly to please my father, who desired the marriage, 
and partly to please the lady who conferred upon me the 
honor of her preference, I contracted myself to Laura Ether- 
idge, without a particle of love on my side entering into 
the affair. Afterwards I saw you, Rose of the world, and 
loved you, the first and only w'oman I ever did love, the last 
and only woman I ever shall love. I could not forego the 
pleasure of seeking your dear presence, and beseeching your 
love. If I approached you under an assumed name, it was 
a lover’s stratagem, and, as such, you will forgive me. If I 
sought to make you mine upon unequal terms, it was a 
lover’s extravagance, and, as such, you may pardon it. I 
love you. Rose, with a whole and undivided heart. In proof 
of which, I have this day done what I should have done 
months ago. I have broken with Lady Etheridge, and I 
have come hither to throw myself upon your mercy, to beg 
pardon for all the wrongs done or meditated against you, to 
lay my heart, hand, and fortune at your beloved feet, and to 
beg you to be my wife. Rose, I am at your feet. Will you 
forgive me ? Will you accept my hand, and be my beloved 
wife ?” he supplicated, sinking upon one knee, and taking 
her hand. 

She snatched it from him and shrunk away, exclaiming: 

'* You have broken with Lady Etheridge 1 Double traitor ! 
false to me I False to her I Who shall trust you ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


97 


“ Rose I Rose ! I do not merit these bitter reproaches from 
you — not from you I To you, at least, I have been true I” 

“ But false to her I false to that noble lady who gave you 
all she possessed, and, above all, her whole heart’s rich love I 
Ah 1 do you think, sir, that I admire treachery any more, 
because another is to suffer by it rather than myself? Shall 
I thank you, because you have turned traitor to Lady Ether- 
idge, rather than to me ? No ! no I no I no I a thousand 
times no ! I spurn the faithless heart ! Go I leave me, Mr. 
Hastings I Your presence infects the very air I breathe !” 

“ Rose 1 Rose! Why this fierce indignation against o?ie 
who adores you ? Why do you continue to strike one who 
loves you too 'tenderly to retort ? If for a time I vacillated 
between the lady who bad my promise and the maiden who pos- 
sessed my heart; if, finally, I broke with the lady and decided 
for the maiden, was that so great a crime? If so, you, at 
least. Rose, who profit by it, should not reproach me with it,” 
said Albert Hastings, bitterly. 

“/ profit by your treachery I I pick up your broken faith, 
and wear it as a trophy I Never I Know me better, Mr. 
Hastings.” 

“Rose, you are very cruel.” 

“ Listen to me once more, and for the last time, and you 
will understand why you and I must speak no more on earth. 
Yesterday afternoon you met me, breathing vows of sincere, 
undivided, undying love !” 

“ Which were true. Rose I as true as heaven I” 

“ They were? Well, so I believed them to be, and so I, 
hoping in a fool’s paradise, left you. Well, when I reached 
home, my mother, very unexpectedly on my part, despatched 
me to the castle to request Lady Etheridge to come to see 
her. On reaching the castle I was shown to the library, 
w^ere I found the lady sitting with documents beforp her, and 
with her noble face beaming with happiness and beiietlij- 
’tions, as though she were anticipating the arrival of some 
one upon whom she was about to bostow some new token of 
Per love— some unexampled good. In a word, Mr. Hastings,, 
this noble and generous lady was expecting her betrothed 
husband, upon whom she was about to bestow in advance her 
6 


98 


THE BEI DAL EVE. 


whole vast landed estate. I had scarcely time to deliver my 
message and to gain her consent to come to my mother, when 
your name was announced. The dear lady, who had nothing 
to conceal, did not send me from the room, but bade me retire 
to the bay-window seat, and amuse myself with some prints 
iinti, ’he should be at liberty to go with me. I obeyed her, 
and another moment, your name, your true name, and not 
the false one by which I had known you, was announced, and 
you entered the room. I heard your voice, and recognizing 
it, started and turned around to assure myself that my ears 
had not deceived me. No; there you stood, breathing to her 
the same vows of sincere, undivided, undying love, that you 
had just three hours before breathed to me ! And there she 
stood, noble lady ! with all her loyal soul beaming from her 
fine face, believing your words that fell from your false tongue, 
just as I believed you three hours before I I took all this ia 
at one amazed glance, and then — I am ashamed to confess it, 
it was a miserable weakness on my part — you were not 
worthy of so much emotion — but, overcome by the sudden 
shock, I fainted away. When I recovered, I found myself 
supported in the arms of Lady Etheridge. You were gone, 
and the iir was sweeter for your absence !” 

“ And you had an explanation with Lady Etheridge ?’’ ex- 
claimed Mr. Hastings, suddenl3^ 

“ No ; the noble lady attributed my fainting to a long walk 
and a long fast, and I had not the courage to undeceive her. 
When by her compassionate attentions she had quite restored 
me, she looked so happy and so confident in her alfections 
that I had not the heart to trouble her. I told her nothing 
about you. I was wrong. I should have unmasked you, 
then and there, regardless of the pain I gave her, thinking 
only of the lasting misery from which I saved her. It was 
very wrong not to have done so. That was another weakness 
of which I would not again be guilty. Indeed, I think all, 
girlish weakness has departed from me forever. A little 
while ago, I was like a ship tossed in a storm ; it seemed to 
me that I should die or go mad ; it was the violent death 
throes of a love that would not survive me. It is all over 
now, and I am calm, though not yet very strong.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


99 


** Oh, Rose ! do not say so. I have borne all your re- 
proaches. I have acknowledged my sin. Do not discard 
me I it would kill me !” exclaimed Albert Hastings, pas- 
sionately. 

“And I do not care if it does,” replied Rose, slowly and 
calmly. “Your first troth was plighted to Lady Etheridge, 
to her it was alone due. To her you have been false ; but to 
her I will be so true, that I will spurn the traitor heart you take 
from her to offer to me. I will be true to my sister woman. 
Why, indeed, should not women be true to each other, since 
men are so false to them ? Well, out of the bitterness of my 
late experience I learn this wisdom, and record this vow : I, 
whose footsteps have strayed so near the precipice over 
which so many, more unfortunate than myself, have fallen — I 
will henceforth take part with my sister woman, whether 
peeress or peasant, whether honored or scorned, however 
weak, unhappy, fallen, and degraded she may be, I will 
always defend my sister woman, with all my might, against 
the world, the flesh, and the demon, if need be. So, may the 
Saviour of us all defend me at my greatest need. Take your- 
self out of my way, and let me pass, Mr. Hastings.” 

“And will you not forgive me. Rose ?” 

“ If ever the Lord gives me grace enough I may. I can- 
not yet.” 

“ Will you not wish me well, then ? She with whom, for 
your sake I broke faith, she wished me well.” 

“ She is the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, a peeress of 
the realm, a noble lady. Yet she has a meeker heart than I, 
the cottage girl, possess. I cannot so easily forgive. We 
waste time. Let me pass.” And Rose, putting out her 
'white arms, seemed to sweep him aside, while, with the air 
of a young princess, she passed on her way. 

“ She is a true Etheridge of Swinburne I Devoted to her 
friends I Relentless to -her foes I She is very angry with 
me now. I must be very patient, forbearing and hopeful to 
manage this case ; for marry her I will, despite of earth and 
Hades I” said Albert Hastings to himself, as he took his way 
back to the castle, where he had to meet his father at dinner 


100 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

VILLANOUS COUNSEL. 


For close desisrn and crooked counsel fit, 

Sagacious, bold, and truculent of wit, 

Restless, ambitious, subtle, sly, and base, 

In power despotic — slavish in disgrace . — Ibyden 

The father and son met at dinner. Mrs. Montgomery was 
at the head of the table. The good lady was full of anxious 
inquiries as to the condition of that dying friend to whom 
Lady Etheridge had been so inopportunely summoned.' 

“And, by the way, Colonel, you never informed me of the 
name of the person, which indeed I was too much flurried at 
the time to ask,” said the matron. 

“ It was a Mrs. Elmer, a very old friend of the family, now 
residing in the neighborhood,” replied Colonel Hastings, 
evasively. And as Mrs. Montgomery had never heard this 
name, she could form no idea of the identity of the indi- 
vidual alluded to. 

“ Dear me ; and how is the poor lady by this time ? really 
dying, do you think ?” 

“ She is, at least, very ill ; and Lady Etheridge kindly re- 
mains by her side.” 

“Just like dear Laura. But, dear me, what a time T have 
had with the visitors that were invited to the breakfast. 
Meeting carriage-load after carriage-load, and sending them 
off with the same tale — Lady Etheridge called suddenly to 
the death-bed of a dear friend. And then the condolences I 
had to hear; and the inquiries I had to answer; and the 
questions that I could not reply to — who was the dying 
friend ? I told them the truth, that I really did not know ; 
that the whole thing had taken place so suddenly, and the 
shock had been so great, that in my confusion and dismay I had 
omitted to ask the name, and had forgotten even if I had 
heard it. And the visitors returned in a state of great per- 
plexity, I assure you, Colonel Hastings ; but I did the best I 
could,” said the clergyman’s widow. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


101 


Colonel Hastings took but little notice of Mrs. Mont- 
gomery's remarks. He was absorbed in much more weighty 
matters, and was anxious to be alone with his son. As soon 
as the cloth was removed, and the wine set upon the table, 
she retired, leaving the^two gentlemen alone. 

“ Now, then,” exclaimed Colonel Hastings, turning towards 
his son, “ here is a dilemma. What do you think of this ?” 

“ Nay, I should ask that question of yourself, my dear sir. 
You, I understand, Jiave been at the bedside of this woman 
Elmer, and have taken her dying deposition. What do you 
think of it 

Before answering Colonel Hastings arose and went to each 
door to be sure that no one was hearing. Then he returned 
to his seat, stooped close to the ear of his son, and whispered : 

“ I think that the little village-maiden. Rose Elmer, is the 
true Baroness Etheridge Swinburne. I think that the 
evidence leaves no doubt upon the question : and if that 
evidence should come before the House of Lords, she would 
be immediately declared as such.” 

“ Well V’ 

“ But that evidence shall never come before that tribunal. 
I was the magistrate who took that dying woman’s deposi 
tion. The only other witness is in my pay, and at my mercy, 
and I know how to keep him subservient to one who can re- 
ward him with gold, or punish him with a jail ; and he will 
be silent until I give him leave to speak. So make up your 
quarrel with Laura, and all evidence that might shake her in 
her possessions shall be suppressed.” 

“And suppose she refuses to make it up ?” 

“Then hold this evidence over her head as a rod of iron. 
Let her understand that, unless she consents to become your 
wife, you will bring forward this evidence of another’s claim, 
and hurl her down from her high position. Let her find that 
her only safety is in becoming your wife.” 

“ But I understand that Laura already admits the claim of 
her rival, and refuses to make any stand against it,” said 
Albert Hastings. 

“ Oh I aye. I know that on the first flush of feeling, after 
this discovery, she is playing the magnanimous, and talks of 


102 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


saving the claimant all trouble, by immediately abdicating her 
position, as the only atonement she can make for having 
wrongfully, though unconsciously, enjoyed it so many years. 

“ But, if she keeps that resolution inquired Mr. Hastings. 

“ She will not I She acted under impulse when she made 
it Cool reflection will bring her to a different determina- 
tion. She will defend her position, if not her rights, and to 
do this effectually she will make up her quarrel with you,” 
said Colonel Hastings, filling and quaffing a glass of port. 

“ But now,” suggested his son, “ suppose that I, myself, de- 
cline to make up the quarrel ?” 

“ You ? Pooh ! nonsense I I don’t understand you I” 
hastily exclaimed the Colonel. 

“ Well, then, I will explain. To begin : you never imagined 
.hat I really loved this woman ?” asked Mr. Hastings, with a 
Ineer. 

“Nay, excuse me ! ' I always gave you credit for judg- 
ment to appreciate Lady Etheridge. Whether you really 
loved Laura or not, I cannot tell,” laughed the father. 

“ You were quite right. I always appreciated Lady Ether- 
idge of Swinburne. As my father, you ordered me to 
appreciate her — as a good son I obeyed you. At your com- 
mand, I proposed for her hand, and was accepted. But it 
was only Lady Etheridge that I valued. If you suppose 
that I cared for Laura you are mistaken. Laura is a sort of 
woman that I detest. A woman whose very presence silently 
wounds my self-respect, whose every look, motion, and tone 
of voice has something in it that says, ‘I am a being of a 
superior order.’ This may be unconscious on her part, but 
it is, nevertheless, true. I loathe what is called a ‘ queenly’ 
or a noble woman. No ; I never loved Laura. If we had 
married, we should have led a terrible life. No ; I detested 
Laura; but I valued the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne.” 

“ Well ; to what does all this tend ?” asked the Colonel, 
impatiently. 

“ Why, to the solution of a problem, that has plagued my 
heart for the last twelve months.” 

“ In faith I do not understand you at all !” exclaimed the 
old man, almost losing his forbearance. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


103 


“Then I will explain. I hated Laura, but valued the 
Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne. I still hate Laura, and 
still value the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, who it seems 
is not Laura, but Rose Elmer, the poor maiden, whom I have 
loved for more than twelve months.” 


<«• 


CHAPTER IX. 

A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT. 


Approach the chamber, look upon the bed ; 

Here is the passiug of no peaceful ghost, 

Which as the lark arises iu the sky, 

And morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dews, 

Is winged to Heaven by good men’s sighs and tears , — Old Plcy, 


Meantime Laura Elmer watched by the death-bed of her 
new found mother. It was a dreary vigil to the fallen 
peeress. 

At length Rose came in, too deeply pre-occupied with her 
troubles to feel that embarrassment which she might other- 
wise have experienced in the presence of the lady. 

There is a sublimity in great sorrows that lends a sort of 
natural dignity to those who feel, yet bear up under them. 
And thus it was with Rose, when calmed and steadied by 
the firmness with which she bore her grief. She entered the 
cottage and protfered to her distinguished visitor its humble 
hospitalities. 

Laura thankfully accepted a cup of tea and a round of 
toast, prepared by the hands of Rose, and after partaking of 
lliese refreshments, she resumed her watch by the death-bed 
of the patient, who was fast passing away. 

Rose lighted a taper, closed up the house, and sat down 
to join her guest in the vigil. They sat in silence until ten 
o’clock, when Rose said : 

“Lady Etheridge, your ladyship watched all last night, 
and you must need rest. Pray permit me to show you up- 


.04 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


stairs to ray little room ; it is clean and neat, though so poor, 
and you would rest well.” 

“ I thank you, dear Rose ; but I could not sleep. I much 
prefer to watch ; but will you lie down ?” 

‘‘ No, Lady Etheridge, I do not wish to leave ray mother.” 

Thus strangely to Laura now sounded that name and title 
given to herself by the only one who had a right to wear it. 
Rut the time had not come to enlighten Rose, and she made 
no comment. 

At the turn of the night, the sleeper awoke. 

Seeing the two watchers at her bedside, she beckoned 
Laura. Laura, who sat nearest the bed’s head, bent her ear. 

Mrs. Elmer whispered : 

“ Have you told Rose, Laura ?” 

“ No, dear mother.” 

“ Why do you hesitate ?” 

“ I do not hesitate. Colonel Hastings begged that 1 
would say nothing to her until he could judge the real value 
of the evidence upon which you found her claim.” 

“ He can judge of it by this time.” 

“ Yes, dear mother, and so can I. And I only delayed 
informing her of her rights, lest our conversation should dis- 
turb your rest.” 

“ Oh, Laura ! Tell her to-night. Tell her in my presence, 
that I may hear your words. I must see justice done before 
I die.” 

“It shall be done, my mother.” 

“ Laura, promise me one thing.” 

“ I do promise, mother ; but^what is it ?” 

“ Promise that you will not' oppose her in her rights, for, 
before high heaven, they are her rights.” , 4 *- 

“I willingly promise that, dear mother.” 

“You are of age, and so is she. Promise that you will 
not wait for the slow justice of the law ; that might keep 
her out of the property for years to come ; but that imme- 
diately after my death and burial you will yourself conduct 
her to the castle, and establish her there. Afterwards let the 
law confirm her rights at its leisure. Will you promise 
this ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. . 105 

“Most faithfully. It is ouly to do that which I had 
already resolved.” 

“Bless you! Bless you, Laura. And you, what shall 
you do, my child ?” inquired the dying woman, anxiously. 

“ I shall join the daughters of toil, and learn for myself 
the meaning of poverty, that has been to me, all my iife 
long, a mere empty word.” 

“ But how will you endure this 

“I know not, but I must learn as others have.” 

“ But how will you support life, my daintily-reared Laura?” 

“ I have not yet thought of that, though I suppose I must 
turn some of my useless accomplishments to account.” 

“ Become a governess, my proud Laura ?” 

“ Something of that sort, if I can properly discharge the 
duties ; but do not think of me, dear mother ; think of your- 
self,” said her daughter. 

At this moment Bose, who had been at the fire, busy with 
a saucepan, and had not heard this conversation, approached 
the bedside, bringing a basin of gruel, which she affection- 
ately pressed upon the sick woman’s acceptance. 

“ Yes ; I will take it, Bose ; for I need a little strength to 
support what is yet to come,”-said Mrs. Elmer, while Laura 
raised her up, and supported her on the bed, and Bdse fed 
her with spoonfuls of the restorative. 

When she had taken sufiicient, and was laid upon the bed, 
and when Bose had put away the basin, and resumed her 
seat at the bedside, Mrs. Elmer said : 

“ Child of my love and care, if not of my blood, do you 
remember the conversation we had yesterday afternoon 
before I sent you to the castle ?” 

“Ido.” 

“ You thought that very strange talk ?” 

“ Yes, dear mother, but I ascribed it to your illness ; you 
were not well.” 

“ Nay ; I was in my perfect senses, Bose, though I re- 
member that you thought me mad and raving. I was not 
delirious then, dear Bose, nor am I now, when I address you 
Rs Bosamond, Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne,” said Mrs 
Elmer, solemnly. 


106 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ Oh ! mother ! mother ! Pray do not ramble so dread- 
fully,” exclaimed Rose, blushing scarlet ; and then turning to 
her visitor and saying — ‘‘ I am humbled to the earth, dear 
lady, to think that my poor mother will ramble so wildly I 
Please forgive her ; she does not know what she is saying ; 
her poor head is so bad.” 

“ She knows what she is saying. Rose,” gravely replied 
the lady. 

“Oh! indeed she does not I She is rambling, wandering 
in her mind. She never would offend your ladyship so if 
she were in her right mind, or knew what she is saying. 
Pray do not be angry with her,” pleaded Rose, with tears in 
her eyes. 

“ I am not angry with her ; nor do you understand either 
me or her She knows what she says ; and I know that she 
speaks the truth,” replied Laura, gravely. 

“I — I am afraid that I am very stupid ; either I do not 
hear rightly, or I do not understand your ladyship,” said 
Rose, m her perplexity. 

“ Then I will speak more plainly. When my mother, 
your nurse, Mrs. Elmer, here pres<^nt, treats you as Rosa- 
mond, Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, she speaks the 
sober truth, for such you are,” replied Laura, slowly and 
emphatically, fixing her eyes upon the perplexed face of her 
hearer. 

Rose met that gaze with a fixed and vacant stare, that so 
far from understanding or receiving the idea that the words 
conveyed, seemed to refuse and repel them in dismay. 

“ Can you not understand me now. Rose ? Have I not 
spoken plainly V' inquired the lady. 

But the fixed and vacant look of Rose’s eyes was un- 
changed, and the lad^ continued : 

“You are the sole daughter and heiress of the late de- 
ceased baron ; and in your own right you are Rosamond, 
Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne. Is that sufiiciently clear ?” 

The color came and went upon the cheek of the maiden. 

“ Lady Etheridge I” she whispered, “ is it necessary to 
humor my poor mother’s strange fancy in this way ? If it is, 
I suppose I must bear with it. Though it is very mortifying 
to be put in such an awkward position.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


107 


*‘Rose, I am not ‘humoring’ any strange fancy of your 
ioster-mother ; nor is she delirious. She speaks the words 
of truth and soberness ; and I indorse them,” said Laura. 

“ Oh I Lady Etheridge, it is very cruel to make a jest of 
me on account of my poor mother’s delusion. 1 should not 
Iiave thought it of you,” exclaimed Rose, crimson with 
indignant shame. 

“ Rose, it is no wonder that you find it impossible at once 
to believe what I tell you ; but, as I hope to answer it to 
Heaven, *I speak the truth. You are Lady Etheridge of 
Swinburne. Can you believe me ?” 

“ I wonder which of us three is crazy ?” said Rose, looking 
from one to another. 

“ Neither of us, dear Rose ; though what I have just 
divulged to you is enough to stagger your faith in our sanity. 
You are Baroness Etheridge ; and as such you will, in a few 
weeks, be recognized by the whole world. Can you not 
receive this fact ?” 

“ Lady Etheridge, if I am not quite mad — if I am in my 
right senses — if I know my own identity — I am Rose Elmer, 
the child of the village laundress ; and you are the last 
Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne,” said Rose, in amazement. 

“ No, Rose ; I am only Laura Elmer, the daughter of 
Magdalene Elmer, the laundress.” 

Rose gazed in hopeless consternation upon the speaker. 

At last the sick woman spoke. 

“I see the crime must be confessed anew. Rose, you 
were the only child of the late baron, who left you in my 
charge, from the time you were but a few days old, until you 
were six months old. I had an infant girl of the same age. 
While the baron was gone, the demon tempted me to change 
you in your cradles; and when, at the end of six months, 
the baron returned, I hid you, his own child, from his sight, 
and gave him my child, whom he brought up and educated, 
in the belief that she was his own. Remorse for this act 
pursued me through life. Remorse for this act compelled 
me to this death- bed disclosure.” 

While she spoke. Rose, white and ghastly as a corpse, 
sank half-fainting into a chair. 


108 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“Now, at last, you understand and believe. Rose,” said 
Laura, quietly. 

“ Oh I Lady Etheridge,” replied Rose, covering her face 
with her hands. 

“ What is the matter, dear ?” inquired Laura, kindly 

“ Oh, Lady Etheridge, what a trial for you I And it was 
no fault of yours I Oh, Lady Etheridge, I never, never will 
interfere with your title, or with your estates. You were 
brought up to consider them yours. You know how to wear 
them. You are used to rank and wealth, as I am to poverty 
and obscurity. I will never interfere with this arrangement I 
It is too late now. It would be very cruel I Forget this 
painful revelation. Lady Etheridge, for I shall drive it from 
my own mind.” 

“ Rose, dear, you rave I It is not in your choice to reject 
your good fortune, though the manner in which you receive 
it proves you most worthy of it, Rose. It is your duty to 
accept, as it is mine to resign this rank. And in yielding it. 
Rose, it is a comfort to know that I yield it to one who 
will wear the ancient name and title both gracefully and 
graciously,” said Laura. 

Rose remained with her head bowed and buried in her 
hands. The news of this sudden prosperity to herself, that 
brought with it such dire adversity to another, overwhelmed 
her like a calamity. She sat there bowed down by an 
honorable shame, at profiting by the noble-minded Laura’s 
misfortunes. 

“ It is only some dream,” she thought — “ some wild vision 
of a feverish sleep ! My mother, in the wandering of her 
mind, called me Baroness Etheridge, and I have gone to bed 
and am dreaming this foolish dream. I wish I could wake 
up. How these dreams deceive us ! How real they seem I 
But presently I shall wake up, and it will be all right.” 

“ Rose, will you permit me to be the first to offer you my 
congratulations ? I wish you much joy in your reviving 
■fortunes. Rose,” said Laura, cheerfully. 

Rose looked up with a bewildered gaze, and silently 
dropped her head again, thinking within herself : 

“There she is, or seems to be, congratulating me! This 




THE BRIDAL EVE. 


109 


iS not an ordinary dream ; it is more than that ; it is worse 
than that ; it is the dream of insanity or of brain fever, I 
have had much to try me lately — William Level’s treachery 
the most of all I And I braved him yesterday, and drove 
him from me, as I would indeed to-day, the traitor ! But my 
head is not strong ; it was too much for me ; and here is the 
reaction — a brain fever, and a foolish fancy that my mother’s 
words were true, and that I am Lady Etheridge. Oh me, 
that I could get well, and find my right place again !” 

“ Bose, rouse yourself I Be equal to your great fortunes I 
for I am sure you can be so I” 

Rose looked up and smiled feebly. Then suddenly realiz- 
ing her position, she burst into a wild paroxysm of tears, 
nobbing forth : 

“ Oh, lady ! lady I no great fortune in this world — not a 
throne — not an empire — can console for one lost love I” 

These words, so strange to her hearers, had burst from 
her unawares, and the wild weeping and convulsive sobbing 
■continued. 

Laura went and took her in her own arms, saying : 

“ Do not weep so — you agitate the sick, my dear. Lost 
love, did you say ? Have you lost love, Bose ? You, so 
young and fair, have you lost love ?” 

“ Oh, lady, the words escaped me I Think no more of 
them. Some day it may be my duty to tell you.” 

All this while Magdalene Elmer had laid on her side, with 
her face turned towards the two, watching them, without ever 
removing her wild, dark eyes. And now she spoke : 

“ You have made her understand, at last, Laura?” 

“ I think so, dear mother. Bose,” she said, turning to the 
maiden, “ you fully comprehend now that your fortunes have 
changed — that j^ou are no longer Bose, the cottage girl, but 
Rosamond, Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne.” 

“Yes, I comprehend what you mean; but I wish never, 
never to take that position.” 

“ But duty, Bose— duty to your ancestors will oblige you 
tc do so.” 

“ Then, lady, you must share it equally with me. You 
must be my lister, as you are my foster sister, and share 


110 


THE B iilD AL EVE. 


every thing equally with me. And you must make the 
lawyers fix it so, that no one ever will be able to deprive you 
of the half of all I possess.” 

“ Dear and generous Rose, I thank you from my profound 
heart 1 But this cannot be, my love. My own pride, Rose, 
would forbid me to become even your dependent, or receive 
heavy benefits from one as meek and gentle as yourself. I 
have lost every thing else, dear Rose. Let me feel that I 
have yet my conscious self-control.” 

With tears Rose repeated and urged her petition. 

“Rose, ask your own heart, if I could do so consistently 
with my own self-respect ? Could you do so in my place 

Rose was silent, for she felt that in Laura Elmer’s position, 
she would have done as Laura Elmer did. 

“And I can serve you in no way at all ? It is very dis- 
tressing to me.” 

“Yes, Rose, you can do me a great favor — one that will 
very much console me in leaving the home of my childhood 
and youth.” 

“ Oh, what is it ? You know f would do any thing in the 
world for you.” 

“ Then I will beg you, when vou are mistress of the castle, 
to retain in your service all my old domestics. I should be 
grieved, indeed, to think that they should lose their places, 
or in any way suffer, through the change of dynasty at 
Swinburne.” 

“ Oh, they shall not ! oh, they shall not ! I will keep 
them, every one I Oh, it mortifies me to talk so, as if I had 
any right to say whether they should go or stay.” 

“ We are talking too much by this sick-bed, I fear,” said 
Laura, leaning over the form of the suffering woman, 

“No, no,” replied the latter, opening he|’ eyes; “no; I 
wish that all should be settled before I go hence.” 

“All is settled, dear mother. I am of age, you know, and 
no longer in the power of Colonel Hastings, so that in this 
affair I can do as I like and you wish. Were I a minor. 
Colonel Hastings, as my guardian, might choose to contest 
the claim of Rose. But as I have attained my majority, I 
fihall use my freedom to do justice. I shall myself, without 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


11 


waiting^ for the law, abdicate the estate to Rose. I shall 
take her to the castle, and install her there. The House of 
Lords, 1 presume, will take up the case, and confirm her in 
her rights, at their leisure. But in the meantime she will be 
in the full enjoyment of her rights.” 

“ God bless you, Laura ! You have a noble heart. When 
will you conduct Rose to the castle ?” 

“Mother, mother!” interrupted Rose — “let me still call 
you mother — I will never leave you while you live,” 

“ She is right,” said Laura Elmer. “We must not leave 
you.” 

“ Then, when all is over, you will do as you promise ?” 
inquired Mrs. Elmer. 

“ We will,” replied her daughter, gravely. 

The SLiftering woman, quieted by these assurances, dropped 
into a deep sleep, that lasted several hours. 

The physician that Laura had employed to attend her 
mother arrived in the course of the morning, and expressed 
his opinion that her awakening would probably be decisive 
for life or death. 

And so it proved. Magdalene Elmer awoke only once 
again to ask forgiveness of heaven and of earth, to bless her 
wronged child and foster child, and then she sank into her 
last sleep of death. 

Ijaura mourned for the parent found only to be lost, and 
Rose wept bitterly for one who had always seemed a most 
tender mother to her. 

Of Magdalene Elmer it might be said, her sins were 
buried with her — her repentance and her affection survived 
her in the memories of Rose and Laura. 

Laura retained her self-command and assumed the direc- 
tion of affairs. 

After the funeral, Laura placed Rose in a close carriage, 
and conducted her to Swinburne Castle. 




112 


THE BRIDAL EVK. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE NEW BARONESS. 


Will fortune never come with both hands fall? 

But since her fair words still wish foulest letters^, 

She either gives a stomach and no food, 

Such are the poor in health, or else a feast, 

Aud takes away the stomach, such the rich. 

That have abundance, and enjoy it not. — Shakspeare, 


Rumors of the chanj^e of ownership had reached the 
CRstle. And as the carriage drew up before the central ball 
door, the head servants arrayed themselves in the hall to 
welcome back their beloved lady. First, on the right and 
left, stood the steward and the housekeeper. TlTey bowed 
and courtesied low as Laura led Rose through the hall and 
up the broad staircase to a pleasant apartment that had been 
the late Lady Etheridge’s morning room. 

Take off your bonnet and mantle here, dear Rose ; we 
will have some luncheon and then rest ; to-morrow you must 
he presented to the household as the baroness.” 

“ Oh, no; dear lady, no ! not yet. I am frightened at this 
great place, and all those military-looking attendants. Do 
not tell them yet, and do not ever leave me !” exclaimed the 
terrified maiden. 

She was far from rejoicing at her good fortune. The 
death of her foster-mother, the treachery of her trusted lover 
had nearly broken her heart, and now this vast wealth sud- 
denly fallen upon her, had crushed her spirit like a great 
calamity. 

“ Do not leave me. Lady Etheridge 1 Oh, never leave me 
in this vast wilderness of splendor alone. I shall go mad !” 
she wildly exclaimed. 

“ Sweet Rose, you will not’be alone. Mrs. Montgomery is 
a good woman ; she is your near relative as she has always 
been supposed to be mine ; and you will find her very kind 
and very competent to become j'-our cho.perone in that society 
which will quickly gather around you after your position 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


113 


bas been confirmed by the house of peers, as it must be in a 
few months,” said Laura, with her usual calm, sweet seri- 
ousness. 

“ Oh, Lady Etheridge 1 I care nothing * for all these 
things I” said Rose, very sadly. 

“ Do not call me by a title to which I have no right, my 
dear ; call me Laura or Miss Elmer, which you please. And 
now let me tell you that you should care for these things. 
Rose 1 You should value the gifts of Providence, in grati- 
tude to the Giver, and you should consider now much good 
you may do with this power.” 

“ Ah I but if you knew — if you knew — bow much I have 
suffered !” 

* “ I do know, dear Rose. I know that you have suffered ; 
but I am ignorant of the nature of your sufferings. It is 
something’* beside the loss of her whom you loved as your 
mother ; that indeed would cause you deep grief, but not a 
bitter, misanthropical, hopeless case like this. Come, you 
must unbosom yourself to me, it will relievo you.” 

“ Oh, no ! no, lady I to you least of all others ought I to 
speak of my troubles I” 

“ Nay ; to me of all others you should talk of them. For, 
Rose, I have been wounded in the very depth of my heart I” 

“You, lady I Oh, yes, I know. It is a great reverse ; I 
wish it had not happened,” said Rose, thinking that Laura 
Elmer alluded to her sudden vicissitude of fortune. 

“ It is not that ; that could not have touched my heart, 
still less have pierced it as this other blow has. No, Rose, it . 
is this— my marriage is broken off.” 

“ Your marriage broken off ! Oh, lady, how was that ?” . 
said Rose, remembering that she had heard the same fact 
from Albert Hastings— yet wishing to know more. 

“ It was in consequence of my change of fortune.” 

“ Oh I the traitor I Oh ! the base traitor !” exclaimed 
Rose. 

“ Hush, my dear. I cannot hear the man whom I once 
loved sprken of in this manner,” said Laura, with gentle 
dignity. 

“Ah I but, then you do not know all his treachery yet I 

T 


114 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


or, how much right I have to call him a traitor 1 And now, 
since I hear from your own lips that the marriage is broken 
off, and the reason for it, I will tell you something which you 
ought to hear; that you may dismiss forever from your heait 
the memory of such a traitor.*’ 

Laura looked up in amazement. 

Rose paused a moment to recover her self-control, and then 
commenced and related the history of her acquaintance with 
J^lbert Hastings from the time that he presented himself to 
her, under the name of Lovel, to the time that she discovered 
him to be the betrothed husband of Lady Etheridge. 

“ And that was the cause of your fainting in the library 
that day ?” said Laura. 

“ It was, lady; I am ashamed to acknowledge the weak- 
ness. I never again will faint, or even weep for that traitor I” 
exclaimed Rose, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

“ Hush, Rose ; I cannot endure to hear you call him thus.” 

“ But why ? You know that he is a traitor — false to me — 
false to ‘you. Why then should I not call him so ?” 

“Because I will not hear it! Having once loved Albert 
Hastings, I will not speak ill of him. He may be all that 
you say — false, selfish, treacherous, utterly unworthy. I may 
have been obliged to discard him forever. But having once 
been crowned with my love, he is sacred as a king from re- 
proaches,” said this noble-hearted, high-souled woman. 

The entrance of luncheon interrupted the conversation. 

After an early tea, Laura and Rose, both greatly needing 
rest, retired to their respective chambers. 

Rose was shown up to hers, by a pretty, neatly attired 
housemaid, who informed her that she had been appointed 
the young lady’s personal attendant. 

“ My name is Anne, Miss ; and please can I do any thing 
for you ?” inquired this girl, as she put the night-lamp upon 
the dressing-table. 

“ No, Anne, thank you, you may go,” replied the cottage 
girl, to whom the attendance of a maid was more embarrass- 
ing than useful. 

When the woman had retired, little Rose looked around 
with affright upon the vast, sumptuous, solitary room in 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


115 


which she found herself. The sombre magnificence of the 
spacious apartment, and the gloomy grandeur of the heavily- 
curtained bedstead, oppressed her spirits. 

“ The chamber is like the inside of a cathedral, and the bed 
is like a tomb I Oh, if this is to be a peeress, I had rather 
by far be a peasant,’^ thought Rose as she undressed and 
retired within the strong fortification termed “a four-poster,” 

The next morning Laura Elmer summoned her chaperonef 
Mrs. Montgomery, to the library, presented Rose to the 
ancient gentlewoman, and explained to her the strange dis- 
covery that had reversed the places of The baroness and the 
cottage girl. It was a long time before Mrs. Montgomery 
could be made to understand that Rose Elmer was really the 
Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, and that she whom the 
old lady Imd hitherto been assured was such, was only the 
daughter of the village laundress. And when at last this 
truth was forced upon her mind, it very nearly turned her 
brain. She could not comprehend why such a great change 
of ownership, involving such a vast estate, should be effected 
without the help of many lawyers, and a great lawsuit. And 
she could not approve of Laura anticipating the majestic 
slowness of the law, by doing prompt and simple justice. 

“ Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Montgomery ; you shall have a 
suit all in good time ; the affair will come before the house 
of peers; they will have to confirm Rose in her rights; but, 
in the meantime, as they are likely to be most nobly tedious, 
I prefer to put Rose in immediate ))ossession, that she may 
enjoy her fortune,” said the high-souled Laura. 

“ Hem ! well. I am glad the peers will investigate this 
strange affair. She does look like the Etheridges, that is 
certain ; but she may be an Etheridge with the bar sinister 
across the arms— a sort of i'ilz-Etheridge !” sneered the old 
lady. 

“ Do I not tell you that she is not ? She is the only child 
of the late baron, by his lawful wife, the late Lucy Tremorne,” 
said Laura, a little impatiently, as she commenced and re- 
capitulated all the evidence of Rose’s birth and lineage. 

“Well, well, ‘those that live longest will see most,’” 
quoth the clergyman’s widow ; and having uttered this un- 
answerable adage, she solaced herself with a pinch of snuff 


116 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


The old housekeeper and butler were next informed of the 
change of proprietorship, and commissioned to break the news 
to the rest of the household. They had been old and faithful 
servants of the late lord, and were deeply attached to his 
house. Greatly as they were shocked and perplexed by all 
that they heard, they readily comprehended their duty to 
their late lord’s daughter, whoever that daughter might now 
prove to be. And deeply as they were distressed by the 
reverses of one whom they had so long loved and revered as 
their lady and mistress, they performed the task intrusted to 
them with fidelity and discretion. And thus, before the day 
was over, all the household obscurely understood that little 
Rose Elmer was the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, and 
that she who had so long and worthily borne that name and 
title was just Laura Elmer, the daiighter of the 'late game- 
keeper. But not one jot or tittle less of respect and honor 
did the high-esteemed Laura receive from those who esteemed 
her more for personal worth and dignity, than for adventitious 
wealth and rank. 

That evening Rose retired to rest, the acknowledged lady 
of Swinburne Castle. 

The next morning, while the ladies were still lingering over 
the breakfast table, a pair of cards was laid before them, bear- 
ing the names “ Colonel Hastings,” “ Albert Hastings, Esq.” 

“ Where have you shown those gentlemen ?” asked Laura 
Elmer 

“ Into the drawing-room, my lady,” answered the man, 
who, from the force of habit, still addressed his late mistress 
by her title. 

“Whom did they inquire for?” 

“Miss Elmer,” replied the footman. 

“ Right; say that I shall be with them in a few moments,” 
«aid Laura. 

The servant, with a low bow, retired. 

“ Lady Etheridge, it was I whom they wanted,” said Rose, 
who persisted in giving the ci-devani baroness her abdicated 
title. 

“ Nay, dear, they inquired for Miss Elmer,” said Laura, 
smiling “ and *hat is my name 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 117 

** Ah 1 but they never knew t/ow, and always only knew 
me by that name.” 

“ There is something in that. It is really very doubtful 
whom they did want — you, who always went by that name, 
or me, who have the only right to it I And the same diffi- 
culty would have arisen had they inquired for the Lady 
Ltheridge. We should not have known whether they wished 
to see me, who always bore the title, or you, who have the 
only right to it. We must expect for a long time 3 "et, Rose, 
to be thought of and designated by our old names — you, as 
Miss Klmer — I, most unwillingly, as Lady Etheridge ! But 
this will wear out in time. But in the present doubtful ease, 
as to whom these gentlemen really want to see, I think that 
as they inquired for Miss Elmer, and as I am the only person 
now bearing that name, I had better see them.” 

“Oh! lady, I know. In this doubtful case you wish to 
save me from a painful interview with those men; and by 
going to meet them yourself. But, dearest lady, will it not 
be equally painful to you ?” 

“ No, dear Rose ; for I have more self-command than you 
have ; and this self-command gives one a great power over 
others.” 

' Oh, then, I thank you, and accept your kindness,” said 
Rose. 

Laura immediately arose from the table, and left the break- 
fast for the drawing-room. 

Never had Laura Elmer looked more nobly beautiful than 
upon this morning, when she went to meet her treacherous 
friends — if such a phrase as that comprised in the last two 
words be not a paradox. Her simple mourning-dress of black 
bombazine fell around her stately, form like the graceful 
di apery of some antique statue. The sable band of her rich 
black hair divided upon her noble forehead, and encircled her 
queenly head, like the coronet of some Grecian goddess. 
Her face was pale with thought and care, and her magnificent 
dark eyes shone with mournful splendor as she walked into 
the room. 

Colonel and Mr. Hastings, who were both seated, arose to 
meet her. 


118 


TH'^E BRIDAL EVE. 


Good-morning, gentlemen. Pray resume your seats. 
You inquired for me. I believe ? How can 1 be so bappy as 
to serve you ?” she said. 

“ Nay, we are very happy to see you, Lady Etheridge ; but 
we inquired for Miss Elmer,” said Colonel Hastings, while 
Mr. Hastings, after bowing deeply, stood silently before her 

“ Miss Elmer you know to be my name ; while you do but 
mock myself and the truth when you call me Lady Ether- 
idge,” said Laura Elmer, gravely, as she motioned them to 
seats, and took a chair for herself. 

“ Then,” said Colonel Hastings, “you really are resolved 
to give up this title and estates without a struggle ?” 

“ I have already given up all right, title, and interest in 
the barony and estates of Etheridge of Swinburne. I have 
inducted the true heiress into her rights, and introduced her 
to her household. I have caused Rose Elmer to be acknowl- 
edged the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, a title in which, 
tmu know, the House of Lords, when they shall have heard 
.he evidence in her favor, will confirm her.” 

“ I judged that such would be the rashness of your folly, 
Laura I But, pardon me, cannot we be permitted to speak 
with this Rose Elmer?” 

“You shall sec Lady Etheridge,” replied Laura, with a 
slight congee, as she left the room. 

“ You must go to them, my dear ; they inquired for you ! 
be firm,” said Laura Elmer, as she re-entered the breakfast- 
room, and sent Rose to meet the visitors. 

As Rose entered the drawing-room, she caught a glimpse 
of Colonel Hastings, retreating into the conservatory, so as 
to leave her alone with his son. 

Albert Hastings hurried to meet her, with outstretched 
hands, beaming eyes, and earnest will, beginning to say: 

“ My adored Rose ! I have sought so often and so vainly 
to see you. And at last I am more fortunate. Dear 
Rose ” 

“ Come no nearer, Mr. Hastings,” said Rose, raising her 
hand with a forbidding gesture, while her whole face crim- 
soned with honest indignation. ' And, indeed, I do uot know 
why you «hould presume to come at all ; you inquired for me 


THE BRIDAL E Hfe. 


119 


as I understand, and I stand before you, only to say that 
which I hope will induce you to shorten your visit, and 
prevent you from ever repeating it. And this is what I have 
to say, Mr. Hastings, Miss Elmer and myself have had a full 
explanation, and ” 

“ Oh, and thus you are made aware by this frantic woman 
that you are the Lady Etheridge of Swinburne, and with the 
conceit of a peasant, raised to the peerage, you would break 
with the friends of your humbler life, and aspire to — heaven 
knows what 1 — for there is no limits to an undisciplined 
imagination !” exclaimed Albert Hastings, forgetting his man- 
hood in his anger. 

“ Nay,” said Rose, crimsoning with indignation — “ I care 
nothing for these things, as you should know, if you had ever 
known more of me than the color of my complexion. I care 
nothing about this barony : and the explanation to which I 
alluded runs upon quite unother subject. In a word,- Mr. 
Hastings, Miss Elmer and myself have done you more honor 
than you deserved in discussing your merits at large. She 
did not need to tell me of your long engagement to her, for 
that fact was public property ; nor did she require to inform 
me of all the false vows you breathed into her ear, for those I 
had the questionable benefit of being compelled to overhear. 
But I told her every thing you ever said or swore to me. 
And after such a mutual discussion of you — your truth — 
honor — disinterestedness — and general magnanimity — you 
may judge the verdict we made up upon your case We 
coincided exactly in our judgment of your character and de- 
servings — the only difference being that she, the high-souled, 
queenly woman, considered the man, however unworthy, 
whom she had once crowned with her love, sacred forever 
from her reproaches; while I, Mr. Hastings, can find no word 
strong enough to express the revulsion of feeling that has 
turned all my regard for you into loathing and disgust.” 

“Insolent girl! your supposed good fortune has quite 
turned your head ! How dare you call the lad}'^ of this nouse 
‘ Miss Elmer,’ or presume to suppose that there is any truth 
in the ridiculous story that would constitute you, a peasant 
girl, Baroness EthejMge of Swinburne ? • Coronets are not 


120 


B BRIDAL EVE. 


given awa\ so readily, let me tell you I” exclaimed Albert 
Hastings, beside himself with rage. 

“ I call the lady of this house Miss Elmer, because she has 
requested me to call her thus As for the truth of the story 
that would constitute me Baroness Etheridge, I care nothing 
about it, except that I have a slight hope that it may prove to 
he a mistake. As for the coronet of which you speak, I do 
not want it. I am as unfit to wear the coronet of a baroness, 
as you are to wear the form of manhood,” said Rose severely, 
for this pretty little creature could let fly terrible shafts of re- 
buke from those rosy lips of hers. 

Albert Hastings paced up and down the floor, chafing with 
shame and anger, and trying hard to control himself. 

Rose stood like a young destroying angel where he had 
left her. She bad neither seated herself nor invited him to be 
seated ; for Rose acted the part of an indignant maiden rather 
than the role of a fine lady ; and how beautiful she looked as 
she stood there. Her dazzling blonde beauty, in contrast 
with her dark mourning habiliments, shone like a star on the 
brow of night. 

Albert Hastings walked up and down the floor in fierce im- 
patience, striving with himself until he had attained some 
degree of composure, when be suddenly paused before Rose, 
and said : 

“ Rose, I beg you will pardon my mad words. I scarcely 
knew what I was saying. Your cruelty and scorn really 
drove me to frenzy. Rose ! I love you to distraction. I 
always have done so I I always shall do so. Rose, do not 
let us quarrel. I know that you are the rightful heiress of 
Swinburne ; and I came hither to-day. Rose, to offer you my 
best services to assist you in the establishment of your rights, 
but your stinging words provoked me to an unmanly retort, 
for which I humbly beg your pardon, Rose. Say you forgivo 
me; consent to be mine, and I will devote all my time, means, 
and energies, to the establishment of your claims to the 
barony of Swinburne. You will want all the aid you can get, 
Rose, for, believe me, the House of Lords will not easily 
transfer the title from one who has so long borne it, to another 
of obscure origin. Answer me, dear Rose, but before you 


THE BRIDAL E 


121 


answer me, remember that I, who now implore you to become 

m\' wife, loved you before the rising of your sun of fortune 

loved you, and won your love while you were simple Hose 
KImer.” 

‘ And while you were the betrothed husband of another. 
l)o you imagine that to remind me of your perfidy, and my 
"ib‘Iiisioji, will be a ready road to my favor ? I had given you 
cit'dit for more worldly wisdom. I return you due thanks 
for your disinterested proffer of services. Of course, so un- 
selfish a friend as yourself will be rejoiced to hear that they 
are not in the least wanted. Miss Elmer has already ceded 
to me all that is claimed as my right ; and if I am not quite 
indiff(!rent whether the Hojise of Peers confirms my claim or 
not, it is because I have 'some faint hopes that they will rein- 
state her, who has so long, and so worthily, worn the honors 
of that ancient house ; and now, Mr. Hastings, you will permit 
me to wish you an eternal farewell !” And so saying, the 
young girl bowed, and withdrew from the room. 

Albert Hastings started forward to intercept her with 
drawal, but was too late ; she glided from the room so quicklj 
that she disappeared before he could take three steps. The 
baffled and frantic plotter was about to follow her, but was 
stopped by his father, who hurried from the conservatory, and 
laid his hand upon his son’s arm, saying : • 

“ What are you about, you young fool ? Sit you down and 
listen to me.” 

“All is lost if I let her leave me in this mood I” exclaimed 
Mr. Hastings, throwing himself into a chair. 

“ Ridiculous ! Nothing is lost or in danger. Listen to 
me, w’ho knows women in all their phases — which are much 
more various than those of the moon, let me tell you — and 
have known them since forty years before you were born : that 
girl loves you to distraction 1” 

“ Ila ! ha I ha ! She takes the strangest way of showing 
it !” exclaimed young Hastings, with a sardonic laugh. 

“ No, she does not. She takes a perfectly natural, and 
very common way of showing it — namely, by excessive, even 
insane anger, at the discovery that you had been making lovo 
to another woman. Give her anger time to cool, and then 
will come the reaction of old love and weakness.” 


122 


THE BRIIaL eve. 


“ But she IS ten times as angry as the other one I It would 
be far easier to make up with Laura than with Rose, were 
that desirable,” said Albert Hastings, impatiently. 

“ There you are quite mistaken. Laura Elmer is the 
proudest woman alive ; and not a whit the less proud as 
Laura Elmer than she was as Baroness Etheridge ; but 
rather more so, for her pride is founded on personal self- 
esteem, that no change of external circumstances can shako. 
By your falling off, her pride and love were both wounded ; 
but her very forbearance shows the indomitable resolution 
with which she has broken with you forever. A woman 
must be eternally estranged from a man of whom she has 
said these words, which I overheard your Rose repeat : ‘ The 
man who has ever been crowned with my love, however 
unworthy, is forever sacred, as a king, from my reproaches.’ 
Reconciliation, if it were desirable — which it is not — it yet 
would be impossible with this uncoronetted baroness — this 
haughty plebeian, Laura Elmer. No, no I You must make 
up your quarrel with that enraged little beauty, Rose.” 

“ But if she will not ?” 

^‘But she will. And if she should-^je very long in coming 
to her senses, I possess a talisman that will bring her to 
reason.” 

“And what is that ?” inquired the young man, looking up 
with curiosity. 

“ The power to pull her down from her present position to 
her original obscurity,” exclaimed the elder, sternly. 

“ I doubt if you have that power. Remember that the 
evidence of her rights has gone out of your hands into that 
of others.” 

•’And that is the extent of your knowledge of the busi- 
ness ?” exclaimed Colonel Hastings. 

“And besides, sir, if you had such a power, such an argu- 
ment avails but little with her, who manifestly cares little or 
nothing for rank and wealth.” 

“And that is the extent of your knowledge of human 
nature jf If little Rose cares nothing for her great good 
fortune, It is simply because its vast magnitude has quite 
overwhelmed her — stunned her into apathy. Wait until she 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


12S 


rei-overs from that insensibility, and actively wakes up to the 
knowledge and appreciation of all the advantages of her 
position ! Wait until the House of Peers and the voice ol 
society has confirmed her in, and time has accustomed her to 
tlie retinue, luxury, splendor, and adulation, that must attend 
the steps of a young, beautiful, wealthy, and unmarried bar- 
oness, and then see whether she would not sell her soul rather 
than lose her position.” 

“Aye, such a change may — nay, most likely will — come over 
her ; but in that case will she be inclined to favor the suit of 
a commoner like myself?” 

“ Yes ; for she loves you, despite her sharp anger. And, 
if she should hesitate long, I will hurry her movements by 
exhibiting the power I po.ssess of hurling her down from 
rank, wealth, luxury, splendor, and adulation, to obscurity, 
want, hardship, squalor, and contempt,” said the old colonel, 
with a sort of savage satisfaction. 

“ But, in the name of heaven, how can you do that, sir, 
when once the House of Lords has confirmed her title ?’ 
inquired Albert Hastings, in astonishment. 

“ Easily I By showing that, after_all the evidence, she is 
really not the heiress of Swinburne !” 

“ Not the heiress of Swinburne ! In the name of all that 
is inexplicable, how could you prove that ?” 

“ By producing and proving the true heir !” 

“And — that is, after all, Laura ?” 

“No!” 

“ What, sir ! neither Laura nor Rose the real heir I Who, 
then, in the name of wonder, is ?” 

“ One whom you cannot marry Therefore, I shall keep 
silent upon the subject until you see whether you can marry 
Hose. If she prove obstinate, I shall let her know that she 
holds her position at my will ! and only upon condition that 
she marries my son I” 

“You are the best of fathers, my dear sir ! But are you 
quite sure of what you say ?” 

“ Entirely 1 I have proof enough to overwhelm every court 
in the kingdom.” 

“ How long have you preserved this seeret, sir ?” 


12A 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Since the night upon which the late baron died 

“ What ! during the whole time that you administered the 
estates as the guardian of Laura 

“ Ves ! but I was managing the estates and educating ;he 
lu'iivss as a bride for my son, who was designed to be tl»e 
master of Swinburne Castle, with, perhaps, the reversion of 
i.e title ! Now, since a claimant with right has displaced 
iier, 1 say, woo and marry that claimant I But, if she refuses, 
she shall in her turn give place to another, who has the 
greatest and the only right ! So you shall be master of Swin- 
burne, despite the caprfees of these two women, for the bar- 
ony of Swinburne is in our power I” said Colonel Hastings, 
with savage triumph. 

“ It is over ! and oh ! heaven grant that it may never, 
never come again I” cried Rose, rushing wildly into the 
morning-room, and throwing herself into the arms of her 
friend. 

“ What is over, dear Rose ?” said Laura, tenderly em- 
bracing her. 

“ That terrible interview with Albert Hastings ! Oh ! I 
hope he will never, never come again I And oh I if he does, 
never, never send me to him again. It was as much as I 
could do to maintain proper self-control while with him 
You do not know what the effort cost me.” 

“Yes, I do, gvveet girl. I see it. You are quite broken 
down by it. But, Rose, compose yourself, and listen to me. 
It is strange that both you and I should have been so mis- 
taken in that man, as to first esteem and then love him.” 

“ Oh I was it not ? And I thought him the most noble 
being on the face of the earth I” 

“And so did I, who, having seen more of the world than 
yourself, should have had more insight into character. But 
then, this is only another instance of the old delusion of mere 
external beauty. A beautiful body and a beautiful soul 
should be united. Such is our instinctive idea ; and upon 
that idea we invariably act : and such, no doubt, was the case 
in the old primeval days of human innocence. But never 
since the fall of man. Rose, has it been invariably so. \ A 
well-proDortioned form and regular features Jo not always 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


125 


iriciose a harmonious soul, or insure a virtuous life. / Of Al- 
bert Hastings, Rose, you and I thought that his noble brow 
indicpted.honor ; his clear blue eyes, truth and frankness ; his 
softly curved, yet firmly chisselled lips, l>enevolence, tender- 
ness, and constancy; his stately form, magnanimity. And 
thus it should have been ; but it was not. We were ambi 
tious ; let us forget him. Rose.” 

“But howto do so? I remembered him to honor him 
once I I remember him to hate him now,” exclaimed Rose, 
with a burst of hysterical weeping. 

“ Do not I or there will be a reaction, and you will love 
him again. You will go from this extreme to that ; the 
pendulum sways as far to the right as to the left. Moderate 
your emotions. Rose. These storms of passion make terrible 
havoc of your frail little body.” 

“ Oh, how can I ? how can I help it ?” cried Rose. 

“ Py occupying your thoughts with any other subject 
/ather than with him. Think of something else. You have 
plenty of other subjects of interest ; one thing, one thing of 
imminent and pressing necessity is, that you should begin to 
prepare yourself by study, for the sphere of life upon which 
70U are about to enter ; and you have no time to lose, for 
though you look so young and childish, you are, in reality, 
over twenty-one. Now, will you follow my counsel ?” 

“ Oh ! yes, yes, dear lady. I would follow your counsel 
forever. Would that we were never to part I” 

“ That is impossible, dear Rose ! partings must come in a 
world like this. But here is my advice — that you retain 
Mrs. Montgomery here, in the same relation as she stood 
towards me, and that you employ the best masters and mis- 
tresses in all the modern languages, and in all the various 
branches of music, and other drawing-room accomplish- 
ments ; also that you enter upon a regular course of English 
reading, under the direction of the vicar of this parish — a 
worthy man, and profound scholar, whom I shall be glad to 
introduce to you.” 

“ Oh, how magnanimous you are to direct me, when I so 
much need guidance. But, oh, lady, if you could only remain 
with -ne. You said that you intend to become a governess, 


126 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


or something of that sort. Why can you not stay heie, 
where you have been accustomed to dwell, and direct my 
studies ‘t I should be the most docile and obedient pupil in 
the world,” said Rose, innocently, and fixing her appealing 
eyes upon her friend. 

Why ?” said Laura Elmer, crimsoning. She paused a few 
moments, and then answered : 

“Because I am human. Rose I Because, though I have 
honor enough promptly to resign a position to which I have 
no just right, I have not sufficient humility to accept a subor- 
dinate situation in a house where I have been accustomed to 
be paramount.” 

“ Oh, lady ; I see, I see, I beg your pardon with all my 
heart, I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Rose, blushing. 

“ There is no need, dear Rose ; there is no offence. But 
now you can estimate my feelings, and understand why it is 
that I must live far from this place.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” exclaimed Rose, weeping bitterly. 

Laura caressed and soothed her. 

“ Strange,” she thought — “ I who have lost every thing on 
earth, except myself, have to comfort this girl fo.r gaining 
every thing that I have lost.” 

♦ * * * ♦ * 

In the course of the next week, it was generally knowm 
throughout the country that the old barony of Swinburne had 
changed proprietors. The Rector, Dr. William Seymour, 
called at the castle to discover for himself the truth of the re- 
port, and the reason for the breaking off of the marriage 
engagement between the ci-devant baroness and her chosen 
husband. 

Laura received him with her usual auave and stately 
courtesy, and promptly related to him the history of the last 
lUvmth. She then spoke most kindly of Rose, the new bar* 
oness and sought to enlist for her, the sympathy and assis 
tance of ..he learned and excellent man. This was readily 
promised by that minister, who next inquired : 

“And you, my child, what are your plans for the future ?” 

“ I shall remain with Rose for a few weeks longer, until she 
U more at ease in her changed circumstances. And in thu 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


127 


meantime I shall advertise in the Times for the situation of a 
private governess in some gentleman’s or nobleman’s family,’* 
replied Laura with a faint smile. 

“ The usual resort of reduced gentlewomen I Oh, my child, 
tnat you should be brought to this 1” said the old man, with 
Lears gushing from his eyes. 

“ Why ? I have,had my share of ibe good things of this 
world. Why should I not know something of the evil things 
thereof, also? If,’ indeed, this reverse be an evil thing! I 
have known wealth, luxury, and adulation ! why should I not 
be made acquainted with want, labor and oppression ?” 

“ Oh, my child, you are both wiser and stronger than I 
am ; fitter to instruct your old pastor than he is to teach 
you I ‘ Verily, out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hath 
God perfected praise.’” 

“ Not in this instance — not in this instance,” replied Laura, 
with bowed head ; “ but, dear sir, I may rely upon your aid 
in furthering my views, so far as your recommendation goes ? 
You have known me from infancy, and would, perhaps, in- 
dorse my moral and intellectual competency for the situation 
1 am seeking to fill ?” 

“ My dear Laura, command my services in all things,” re- 
plied the pastor, with tears in his eyes. 

‘And now I have occupied you sufficiently with myself, I 
wish to introduce Rose,” she said, touching the bell-eor<i 

A footman entered. 

“ My compliments to Lady Etheridge, and say that Dr. 
Seymour is here, and desires to be presented to her,” said 
Laura. 

The footman, with a bow. withdrew. 

“ My dear child, how easily you bestow that ancient title, 
that you have worn so long, upon another,” said Dr. Seymour. 

“And how meekly she bears it. You do not know her sweet 
humility. — But here she comes !” said Laura, as ‘‘he door 
opened, and the fairest beauty that he had ever seen glided 
into the room. 

‘ Lady Etheridge, Dr. Seymour, our rector,” said Laura, 
quietly. 

Rose blushed painfully upon hearing herself called by this 


128 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


title, and droppea a courtesy that savored more of the Sunday** 
school girl than of the line lady. And the worthy doctor 
bowed, and held out his hand to one whom he regarded 
rather in the character of a simple cottage-girl than as the 
lady of the castle. Rose knew the rector much better titan 
the rector knew her, for she had seen him many times walk- 
ing or riding through the village; but she had never attended 
his church. , Her foster-mother, in those days of remorse, 
in which she could not endure the sight of any one from 
the castle, had sedulously .avoided the church attended by 
that family ; and so, whenever she had felt disposed to 
assist in Divine worship, she went to a Dissenting chapel in 
the village, the minister of which afterwards soothed her 
dying hours, and performed her funeral obsequies. 

Thus, Rose and the rector had never met before. This 
meeting, however, benevolently brought about by Laura, 
proved mutually pleasing to the parties. The worthy rector 
could but be pleased with the beautiful and unassuming girl, 
upon whom the baroness’s coronet had so suddenly descended. 
And Rose felt her courage rise as her confidence rested upon 
the venerable minister who was to be her neighbor, pastor, 
and guide. 

The doctor promised to assist the views of both these 
young persons, and then, after joining them at their luncheon, 
took his leave. 

Dr. Seymour busied himself in procuring proper masters 
for the young heiress. Rose, and also a respectable situation 
for*the disinherited Laura. And the end of another month 
.saw Rose fairly launched upon her course of study, and 
Lau’-a on her road to London to take her situation of gover- 
ness*in the family of a baronet, who was then living in town. 

Rose wept bitterly at parting from her noble-hearted, 
high-souled friend, and Laura consigned her for comfort to 
the benevolent care of the aged pastor and his family. 

The charge was faithfulh^ undertaken by Dr. Seymour. 

“Although her backward education makes it advisable that 
that she should not enter general society as yet, still she must 
have some company of her own rank,” said tlie good man ; 
and forthwith he called upon several of the noble and “ gen- 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


129 


tie” families of that neighborhood, with whom he used his 
mdnence to induce them to “ take up” this young new-comer 
into their ranks, even before the highest tribunal in the 
realm should confirm her rights. 

And with one accord, but from various motives, the coun- 
try families agreed to call upon this young meteor rhai had 
come into their orbit. 

Some called from motives of compassion, to see a young 
creature so utterly destitute of kindred and friends ; others 
from policy sought the acquaintance of the wealthy heiress ; 
others, again, had younger sons to provide for, and thought 
Swinburne Castle not a bad fortune for a cadet of a noble 
family ; others called from mere impertinent curiosity ; and 
all jesolved upon one course — to take her up” so long as 
she remained a disputed heiress of Swinburne, and Baroness 
Etheridge, but to “drop her” the moment the House of 
Lords should fail to confirm her title. 

And so, from the day of Laura’s departure, scarcely a day 
passed that there were not visitors at Swinburne castle. 



130 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


to her betrothed husband, the several documents had been 
collected and intrusted to young Cassinove, with directions 
to proceed immediately to London, and lodge, them, for 
greater security, in the hands of the family solicitor, 
and afterwards to go to the house in Portman-square, and 
avvait the return of his patron. And the young man, glad 
to escape the presence of that queenly woman, whom he 
could not look upon without love, and could not love witnout 
sin, promptly obeyed the orders of his employer, and the 
same night set out on his journey to London. In due time 
he reached the city, executed his commission, and retired to 
his own peculiar den in a great house in Portman-square, to 
await the arnval of Colonel Hastings, who was expected in 
town immediately after the marriage of his son and the de- 
parture of the happy pair upon their bridal tour. With his 
whole soul consuming with a passion that his reason assured 
him to be as well founded in esteem as it was hopeless in 
prospect, young Cassinove passed many weary days, vaguely 
wondering at the prolonged absence and unaccountable 
silence of his patron. At that day news did not travel with 
any thing of the alacrity with whi’'*’' ' ""^ung 

Cassinove heard nothing \e 

castle. 

Nearly a * 

cifU] o r"' 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 131 

venerable patron had not been for once overtaken by iutoxi- 
eation. 

“I trust, sir, that no misfortune,” began Ferdinand, but he 
was interrupted by a terrible torrent of profanity, and the 
words — 

“ Misfortune, misfortune I Worse, sir. A confoundedly 
ridiculous contretemps that has made us a nine days’ wonder 
— a town-talk all over the country.” 

“ What ever it was, it does not in any way affect Mr. 
Hastings or his bride.” 

“ Perdition, sir I It was just those two whom it did affect,” 
exclaimed the old man. 

Ferdinand turned very pale, and moved a step nearer, and 
then, from very agitation, sank back into his chair, mur- 
muring — 

“And what, sir, if I may be permitted to ask, is the nature 
of this calamity, and the manner in which it touches Mr. 
Hastings and his bride ?” 

“ Confound it, sir I At the very last moment it broke off 
the marriage.” 

Cassinove sprang upon his feet with a cry of irrepressible 

Joy- 

Colonel Hastings mistook this for an exclamation of aston- 
ishment, and thinking himself sure of an interested and sym- 
pathizing listener, he related, with many imprecations, the 
discovery that had been made at Swinburne, with the events 
that followed. 

Young Cassinove listened with a joy that it was almost 
impossible to conceal, all the while saying to himself — 

“ She may yet be mine — she may yet be mine. This noble 
creature may yet be mine. Oh, what a revulsion from des- 
pair to hope and happiness ! Now I have an incentive to 
action ; now I have an inspiration to live and do, and endure; 
now shall days of toil and nights of study anticipate the long 
passage of years, and 1 will win fame and wealth to lay both 
at her feet. I will restore her more than she has lost. Hear 
it, oh, ye spirits that inspire and direct noble passions, and 
bless my efforts !” 

While these glowing hopes and inspirations warmed the 


132 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


bosom of the ardent young Italian, Colonel Hastings brought 
his long story to an end, concluding with the words — 

‘‘And, of course, you must be aware, Cassinove, that there 
could be but one line of action for us, my son’s destined 
bride being proved an impostor.” 

“ Impostor, sir,” indignantly interrupted the young man. 

“ Well, not impostor, exactly, since she was no conscious 
party to the fraud that imposed her upon the late baron as 
his daughter and heiress ; but as she was discovered and 
proved to be the daughter of the late game-keeper, of course, 
a family of unblemished lineage like our own could not 
possibly receive her. Mr. Albert Hastings, with my full ap- 
probation, requested to be freed, and was freed, from his 
engagement to her.” 

“ The base traitor !” exclaimed Cassinove, in indignant 
scorn. 

“ Sir !” vociferated the colonel, in astonishment at his 
secretary’s boldness. 

“ I say the base traitor ! And would to heaven I had the 
brother’s privilege of chastising him for the most infamous act 
that I ever knew a man to be guilty of 1” 

“ Sir I by the Lord, sir ! what do you mean, sir ?” 

“ I meau to express ^ully my opinion of your son’s base 
Conduct, sir I which, as you approve it, you shall hear. He 
was the pure love of ^ noble lady’s heart. She loved him 
so loyally, that while she still believed herself the Baroness 
Etheridge of Swinburne, she beggared herself to confer upon 
him her whole estates. But suddenly, without any fault of 
hers, she loses her title* rank and wealth. And in that bitter 
hour of reverses, he ^'^o has won her love, and taken her 
queenly gift, and promised her undying fidelity, and who 
should have been the first to console and sustain her under 
her heavy misfortunes ; he, her betrothed husband, turned 
traitor, and deserted her in the hour of her direst need. 
Ceward ! caitiff! miserable libel upon all true manhood.” 

“Get out of my house, sir!” cried the colonel, striding 
towards Cassinove, and shaking his fist. 

“ I intend to do so ; but not until I have fully expressed 
my opinion This seeming sad reverse of this most noble 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


138 


!cdy is really no misfortune, but a bappy vicissitude for 
her, since the same providential blow that deprived her of 
rank wealth, and title, dashed from her side a wretch 
unfit to breathe the same air, or tread the same earth with 
herself.” 

“ Will you begone from my house, sir I” thundered the old 
colonel, advancing on him. 

“ J am gone I Not one moment would I remain in the 
service of those whose own lips defend their own dishonor.” 

The enraged old man rushed upon the younger one with 
uplifted hands and furious eyes. 

But Oassinove, taking off his hat, turned and calmly con- 
fronted his employer, saying — 

“ Sir, the gray hairs that have not brought you respect yet 
protect you from resentment. I wish you good-night. 
Colonel Hastings, and a better understanding of that which 
really blemishes an unblemished lineage,” and with a bow, 
the young man left the room, and hurried immediately to his 
own little den on the third floor, where he commenced 
preparations for a hasty departure. It was the work of a 
few moments to pack his slender wardrobe and small stock 
of books. Next he called a cab, ordered his luggage to be 
put upon the vehicle, and directed the driver to take him to 
No. 8 Flitting street. A half hour’s drive through th®* intri- 
cate thoroughfares of the centre of London brought him to a 
small, clean-looking thread-and-needle shop, that bore over 
the door the sign “ Ruth Russel.” Pulling up here, he got 
out and went into the cheerfully lighted little shop that was 
for the moment occupied only by a neat little dark haired 
woman of about thirty years of age, dressed in a widow’s 
weeds and cap, and standing behind the counter. 

“AVell, Mrs. Russel, how does the business?” said young 
Cassinove, cheerfully, as he entered, 

“ Oh, very indifferently, I thank you, sir. Your last half 
dozen of shirts are quite finished, and I should have seni; 
them yesterda^L only Frank is sick with a cold, and little 
Emily docs not know the way. How sorry I really am that 
3 '’OU should have had the trouble to come.” 

“Reassure yourself, Mrs. Russel, I have not come abt?ui 


134 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


the needlework. I wish to know if your second floor front 
is let ?” 

“ Oh, no, sir I The rooms take no better than the shop, 
somehow. It seems very unlucky ; but I suppose it is my 
fault.” 

“ I am sure it is not ; and, as a proof of my confidence, I 
have brought you a lodger in myself, if you will take me.” 

“ Oh, willingly ! gladly, sir!” replied the little widow, her 
black eyes beaming with delight. “ When would you wish 
to take possession ?” 

“ Immediately, if the rooms are ready. My luggage is at 
the door.” 

“ Very well ; I will have fires lighted there instantly. To 
air the rooms is all that is necessary,” said Mrs. Russel, 
hurrying into the back parlor to give the necessary directions, 
while Cassinove went out to have his luggage brought in, 
and pay the cabman. 

And in ten minutes more Mr. Cassinjve was installed com- 
lortably in his new quarters, consisting of a sitting-room front, 
and bed-room back, both very neat and clean, though small 
and plainly furnished. He threw himself into an old arm- 
chair, in front of the bright little fire which the dampness of 
the evening rendered necessary ; and, while he disc-ussed the 
tea and toast that stood upon a little table on his right, he 
reflected seriously upon his future prospects. He was pos- 
sessed of a great versatility of genius, and had alternately 
devoted himself, with considerable success, to the arts of 
music, poetry, painti'iig, sculpture ; but he knew that these 
were seldom the passports to fame, and seldomer to fortune. 
And both must be won for Laura Elmer. He thought over 
all the self-made men of historical and contemporary times, 
who had risen from poverty and obscurity to wealth and dis- 
tinction, and of the means by which they had achieved great- 
ness. He found the two greatest avenues to fame and 
fortune to be the field and the forum, and the surest of these 
to be the latter. And, confident in the strength of his own 
versatile genius, when concentrated upon one great object, 
he resulved to tear himself away from the fascinating pur- 
suit of poetry and the-arts, and devote himself with assiduity 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


135 


to the dry study of the law, and, as he said before, with days 
of toil, and nights of study, anticipate the slow passage 
of years. 

“ And if ever heart and flesh faint in the struggle, I will 
remember Laura Elmer, and live again !” he said, warming 
with enthusiasm at her very name. 

And all these ardent aspirations and glorious hopes were 
.for a woman he had only seen twice, and whom there appeared 
little chance of his ever seeing again. 

But when did such considerations ever damp the spirit of 
a lover ? 

The one invincible obstacle was removed : she was free ; 
she was reduced to his own rank ; she had no other lover ; 
there was every thing to hope. 

Besides, who ever loses hope while the lady of his love 
lives ? Nothing but her own death can deprive him of the 
secret hope of one day calling her wife. 

Young Cassinove’s hopes took the form of prophecy. lie 
saw the future in the present. 

But to enter upon the career by which he hoped some day 
to win wealth and distinction for the sake of Laura Elmer, a 
little money was absolutely necessary, and he had but a few 
sovereigns, the remnant of last quarter’s salary. It was 
therefore necessary that he should set about something to 
replenish his exhausted purse. 

He lost no time, but immediately unpacked his writing- 
case, set it upon his table, and wrote an advertisement to be 
put in the Times, to the effect that a young gentleman, a 
graduate of Christ Church, desired a situation as private 
tutor or secretary in a gentleman’s or nobleman’s family. 

The same night he despatched this to the office of the Times, 
and wdthin two days he received an answer, requesting him 
to call at No. — , Grosvenor-square. 

The young man lost no time in donning his best walking- 
suit, carefully brushing his hat, and setting out for the 
appointment. 


J36 


the bridal eve. 


CHAPTER XIL 

THE GOVERNESS. 

Mind, revere tlivself ! 

Stand upon thy worth. 

Let not the frowns of fortune 
Crush thee to the earth : 

Cringe not to the fool, 

Though by millions backed, 

Keep thy native dignity 
Evermore intact. — $S. 

Laura Elmer arrived in London alone, at nightfall. 
Leaving the mail-coach, she called a fly, had her luggage put 
on, and directed the driver to drive to a house in one of the 
most fashionable localities in the West End. An hour’s ride 
brought her to within a few blocks of her destination. To 
get nearer seemed impossible, from the long line of carriages 
that stood along the street in front of the house, and stopped 
the way. Every circumstance seemed to indicate that a 
large evening party was being entertained at the house in 
question. 

Laura put down the window, and asked the driver : 

“ Can you get no farther V\ 

^‘No, madam ; not as yet,” answered the cabman. 

“How long shall we have to stay here ?” 

“ Himpossile to say, mum. Here be a great crowd, as her 
la’ship his ’aving of a ball, or summut.” 

Laura sunk back in her seat, and waited perhaps half an 
hour before the cab drew up to the door, which, standing 
open, revealed a lighted hall, with a supercilious-looking 
porter, seated in an arm-chair, and several footmen in attend- 
ance — to one of whom Laura handed her card. 

Laura Elmer was dressed in deep mourning, and muffled 
in the cloak and hood in which she had travelled from Swin- 
burne. But there was in her air and manner a certain gra- 
cious dignity that seemed to mark her as a lady of high rank. 
The servant that received her card bowed low, and showed 
lier up the broad staircase to the door of a cloak-room, where 
several splendidly-dressed ladies were laying off their wrap- 
pings before passing into the drawing-room. 


s 

THE BRIDAL EVE. 137 

Laura saw at once the servant’s very natural error, and 
turning, said : 

I think you mistake me for one of the invited guests, this 
evening.” 

Even that explanation did not shake the servant’s faith in 
the high position of the noble-looking woman before him. 
He glanced at her deep mourning, and thought he had found 
the reason why she was not a guest at the gay party. He 
answered, respectfully : 

“ I beg your pardon, madam ; if you will be so good as to 
walk into the library, I will take your card up to her 
ladyship.” 

And the man opened a door on the left, and showed the 
visitor into a spacious and richly-furnished library. Laura 
seated herself at a table, and mechanically turned over the 
leaves of a folio while waiting the return of the servant. 

Presently she heard voices without the door — one was that 
of the footman who had carried up her card, and who seemed 
to be apologizing for the mistake he had made. The other 
was the voice of an elderly female servant, who was roundly 
lecturing the man in the following words : 

“ To carry up the governess’s card to her ladyship in the 
drawing-room ! I’m ashamed of you, James I but hi never 
could teach you the difference between a lady and a woman. 
Now I not honly know a lady from a woman, but among 
ladies, hi can h always tell a mistress, han ’onerable mistress, 
countess, marchioness, and duchess, the minute hi see one, 
and hi graduates my respects haccordingly. Hand similarly 
dmong young ladies, I can tell at sight a miss, han ’onerable 
miss, hand a lady ; hand likewise graduates my respects 
haccordingly. Now, a governess, James, is not by no means 
a lady ; but his only a person hentitled to no manner of 
respects whatsomedever, except Chri.stian charity, has one 
may say. Now you shall see how I receives this governess.” 

‘‘Just so, Mrs. Jones; you’ll put her on her proper footing 
in no time.” 

“You shall see, James.”. 

But Mrs. Jones did not know that there were spiritual 
hierarchies as dominant as were earthly ones, and that hi 


138 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


Laura Elmer’s person lived the honor-compelling spirit of a 
queen. 

She opened the door and bustled in, swinging herself from 
side^to side, with all the insolence of a pampered menial, and 
was about to speak, when Laura Elmer raised her stately 
head, and fixed her full, dark eyes upon the woman’s face ; 
whereupon the latter immediately, and quite involuntarily, 
dropped a courtesy, and, addressing Miss Elmer very respect- 
fully, said : 

“ My lady has sent me to receive you, ma’am. Would 
you prefer to see your room before you take supper ?” 

“ I thank you ; you may show me to my apartment, and 
send me a cup of tea ; that is all I shall require to-night,” 
said Laura. 

The housekeeper touched a bell, which was answered by a 
housemaid, to whom she said : 

“ Show Miss Elmer to the bed chamber adjoining the 
school-room, and take her up a cup of tea.” 

The girl brought a light, and requesting Miss Elmer to 
precede her, showed her the way from the library. 

“ There, James, you see with what self-respect and dignity 
hi treat the governess,” said the housekeeper, just as soon as 
the restraining influence of Laura’s presence wa^vithdrawn. 

“Can’t say as I did, Mrs. Jones,” said the footman, very 
drily. 

“You seen, at least, hi kept her at a distance,” said the 
housekeeper. 

“ 1 see you kept yourself at a respectful distance, just as I 
should, if any haccident was to throw me in the way of her 
majesty the queen.” 

“ You’re a himperent fellow, and hi shall report you to Sir 
Vincent !” exclaimed the housekeeper, in a fury, as, swinging 
herself from side to side, she brushed out of the room. 

“ Well ! governess or duchess, I could no more fail in re- 
spects to that young lady, than I could to Lady Lester herself. 
Leastways, when I’m in her presence ; nor no more could 
you, Mrs. Jones, for all your swinging about of your hoops 
behiud her back Wh}^, she’s grander looking in her plain 
black dress, thai all the peeresses in their velvets and 


THE BRIDAL EVE, 


139 


diamonds, as I saw hannounced in the drawing-room this 
hevening,” was the acute criticism of the footman, James, as 
he returned to his post of service in the hall below. 

Meanwhile, Laura Elmer was conducted by the housemaid 
to her ai)artment, next the school-room, in the third stoty. 

“ My lady appointed this floor as the apartments of the 
young ladies and their governess, upon account of its quiet 
and fresh air, and I am directed to wait on you and them, 
ma’am. Is there any thing I can bring you with your tea ?” 
asked the maid, as she ushered Miss Elmer into the com- 
fortably furnished and well lighted bed-room, where her lug- 
gage had already been brought. 

“ Nothing else, thank you. My good girl, what is your 
name ?” 

“ Lizzy, ma’am.” 

“Nothing, then, Lizzy,” said Miss Elmer, lying off her 
wrappings and bonnet, and throwing herself into an arm-chair 
before the bright fire. 

And then the excitement that had sustained her through 
the long journey, subsided, now that it was over. There 
came a strong re-action, and she burst into a passion of tears ; 
but not one thought was given to the loss of wealth or title ; 
a commonplace woman might indeed have wept bitterly for 
the loss of these, but Laura Elmer could only weep for the 
greater bereavement of her heart. 

“ If he had been taken away from me by death, while I yet 
believed him to be true and noble, then, indeed, I could have 
borne it I I should have put on mourning, and lived through 
all my pilgrimage on earth a widowed maiden for his sake, 
waiting for that death which should re-unite us in eternal 
love. But now ! but now I he is lost to me forever, in time 
and in eternity.” 

She dropped her face once more upon her hands, and sobbed 
as though the very fountains of her life were breaking up. 

Thus bitterly she wept in her hour of weakness for the 
false-hearted traitor, caring nothing, knowing nothing of the 
true and noble heart who had secretly consecrated himself to 
her service, and who would gladly have shed his blood, drop 
by drop, to have saved her from shedding tears. 


140 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Not long did her weakness last. She dashed the sparkling 
drops from her eyes, murmuring: 

“I must not give way to sorrow for the past. I must 
struggle through my life. I must not murmur at misfortune, 
but rather thank heaven for the blessings that are left. I 
have lost wealth, position, and my false love ; but I have left 
youth, health, intellect, and much acquired knowledge,, with 
many accomplishments. These will always enable me to lead 
a useful life. How much more favored am I still than half my 
fellow-creatures I I will grieve no more, but rather show my 
gratitude to Heaven by a cheerful industry in the station in 
life, which Providence has assigned me.” 

She arose, bathed her eyes and smoothed her hair, and re- 
sumed her seat just as Lizzie entered with the tea-tray. 

And after this slight refreshment, Laura Elmer dismissed 
her attendant and retired to bed. She could not sleep. The 
novelty of her position was enough to have disturbed her re- 
pose ; but this was not all. Accustomed all her life to the 
luxurious stillness of Swinburne Castle, where her own de- 
licious sleeping-room was blind to light and deaf to sound, she 
found the noise of the London streets a perfect antidote to 
sleep. All night long there was the sound of carriages 
coming and going, as late guests arrived and early ones de- 
parted. At length when the day broke, and all the rest of 
the world woke to life, London became quiet. 

Laura Elmer dropped asleep, and was visited by a singular 
dream or vision. First there was infused into her soul a 
delicious warmth and light, strengthening as soothing. She 
was again at Swinburne Castle. The beautiful and beloved 
home of her childhood and youth was bathed in the sunshine 
of a glorious summer’s day. Many loving friends were 
around her, and by her side was one whose kingly counte- 
nance seemed strange, yet strangely familiar, and whom, in her 
dream, she loved with a passion as profound as it was 
elevated, as ardent as it was pure. 

In his hand he held the coronet of her ancient house 
This glittering diadem he placed upon her brow, saying : 

“ Hail, my beloved ! once more Laura, Baroness Etheridire 
:f Swinburne I” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


141 


With the fulness of joy that this diadem inspired she awoke, 
and the beautiful vision fled. The vision fled, but not its be 
neficent eflect. Charmed, strengthened, and elevated, she 
knew not wherefore, except through the influence of her 
dream, she arose and made her simple morning toilet — a plain 
black bombazine dress, and black crape collar. Her rich and 
abundant black hair, worn in plain bands, was her only head- 
dress. By the time she had completed her toilet, which, 
sini})!#" as it was, occupied her longer than usual, for she was 
quit_- iiiaccustomed to waiting upon herself, there came a 
gentle rap at the chamber door, and to her “ Come in,” en- 
tered the little maid. 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon, ma’am, I thought you would 
want me to assist you,” said Lizzy ; adding, “ breakfast is 
quite ready.” 

“ Show me the way, then, child,” said Miss Elmer. 

The maid conducted our heroine to a small sitting-room ad- 
joining the school-room, where a table was laid for the morn- 
ing meal. 

“ The young ladies and the governess take their meals 
here, ma’am, if you please.” 

“And where are the young ladies ?” 

“ If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Rachel will bring them 
directly.” 

And even as the maid spoke, a respectable, middle-aged 
matron entered, leading two dark-eyed little girls, of about ten 
and twelve years, by the hand, whom she presented to the 
governess as Miss Lester and Miss Lucy Lester, adding ; 

“Now, my dears, this lady is your teacher. You will 
be very good, and not plague her as much as you did Miss 
I him rose.” 

“ But I hated Miss Primrose, nurse, and I shall hate this 
one, too ; I know I shall,” said the elder child. 

“ For shame. Miss Lester ! Go and speak to your gov- 
erness as a young lady should,” said the nurse. 

1lie children drew back, frowning and sulky ; but Laura 
advanced towards them with outstretched hands, saying; 

■' I am very glad to see you, my dears, and I am sure yoa 
will like to stay with me.” 


142 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Her voice was so sweet, and her look so gracious and be- 
nignant, that the children readily met her offered hands, and 
smiles broke through their sulky faces, like sunshine through 
the clouds. 

The elder one looked up shyly into her face, and said : 

"I am sorry that I said any thing to offend you, ma’am ; 
but Miss Primrose was such a plague I But I will please 
you.” 

“I hope so; and now shall we go to breakfast?” said 
Laura, leading the little girl to the table. 

The nurse had left the school-room, and now returned, 
leading in a boy of about eleven years old, saying: 

“And here is Master Percy, if you please, ma’am. He is 
to be under your charge until his tutor arrives.” 

Once more Laura arose to meet the lad ; a fine, handsome, 
dark-eyed, frank-looking boy, who returned her cordial greet- 
ing with a look of real admiration, saying : 

“I am a great boy to be in a lady’s school-room, Miss 
Elmer ; but you will find me not at all unmanageable.” 

“ Of that I am quite sure,” replied the governess. 

The boy joined the circle at the breakfast-table, where the 
children broke into a conversation, more remarkable for vi- 
vacity than for propriety. 

Laura looked from one to another of her pupils, thinking 
within herself : 

“Providence never intended me for a governess, for I feel 
not the slightest disposition towards curbing these children’s 
fine spirits or checking their free conversation.” 

When breakfast was over. Miss Elmer took her pupils into 
the school-room and entered into a preliminary examination 
of their progress in their various studies. This occupied her 
the whole forenoon, and it was near two o’clock when a servan> 
knocked at the door, and being admitted, brought the com 
pliments of Lady Lester, with a request that Miss Elmei 
would come immediately to her ladyship’s dressing-room. 

With a mournful smile given to the memory of the past, 
when as Baroness Etheridge she herself received dependents 
in her own dressing-room, Laura Elmer arose, and attended 
by the footman who showed her the way, descended to the 


^HE BRIDAL EVE 


143 


second floor, upon which was situated the private apartments 
of Lady Lester. Laura was shown into a spacious dressing- 
room, with hangings of blue satin, and otherwise splendidly 
furnished, the walls being adorned with the choicest paintings, 
and the niches filled with the rarest statues, all original or 
copies of old masters. Many bouquets of the rarest exotics 
diffused a rich fragrance through the air. In the midst of^ 
this room stood a large Psyche mirror, and before it, in the 
softest of easy-chairs, reclined a fair, statuesque woman, ar- 
rayed in a graceful white dressing-gown of Indian muslin. 
At her side stood a small rosewood table with a breakfast 
service of gold plate, upon which stood the remains of a 
dainty breakfast. At the back of her ladyship’s chair stood 
her French maid, engaged in combing out the long, luxuriant, 
light hair of her mistress. 

The first thought of Laura Elmer on entering the room, 
was : 

“ Surely this young, fair, inane-looking woman cannot be 
the mother of those very vivacious and beautiful little bru- 
nettes in the school-room. She must be their step-mother 
and the baronet’s second wife.” 

“Jeannette, tell the young person to come around here, 
where I can see her without having to turn my head,” said 
her ladyship, addressing her/cmwe de chambre. 

Laura smilingly advanced and stood as she was desired, 
immediately before Lady Lester. 

“You are the new governess that Sir Vincent engaged 
she inquired,* without taking the trouble to lift her languid, 
snowy eyelids. 

“ Yes, madam,” replied Laura. 

“ Your name is Miss Elmer ?” 

“ It is, madam.” 

“ Well, Miss Elmer, Sir Vincent desired me to see you this 
morning, though I am quite at a loss to know why,” drawled 
her ladyship, languidly. 

“ Perhaps, madam, the baronet wished me to receive your 
instructions as to the best method of managing my pupils,” 
suggested Laura. 

“ Oh, nurse Jones could tell you how to manage much better 
than I could. She understands their dispositions.” 


144 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


It is probable, then, that Sir Vincent wished me to receive 
your ladyship’s directions concerning the course of studies to 
be pursued by the young ladies ?” 

“ Oh, then, he should have sent for you to the library, talked 
with you himself, for he is interested in all those matters, w^hich 
only bore me.” 

All this time Laura Elmer had stood with her stately form 
drawn up, and her large, dark, starry eyes, looking steadily 
down upon the fair inanity before her. 

“ I am sure I cannot conceive why Sir Vincent should wish 
me to see you,” said her ladyship, in a tone of vexation, and 
then, for the first time, raising her languid eyes to the face 
of the governess, she asked : 

“ Can you suggest any thing else ?” 

Then seeing, for the first time, that queenly form, and meet- 
ng, for the first time, that queenly spirit shining through the 
great, calm, luminous eyes, she instinctively bowed before it, 
and involuntarily said : 

“I beg your pardon. Miss Elmer, for having kept you 
standing so long. Pray take a seat.” 

“ I thank you, madam, but if your ladyship has really no 
commands for me, I will ask your permission to return to my 
charge.” 

“ I really do not know that I have any thing to suggest to 
you, Miss Elmer. Yet now I think of it, I wish you to tell 
me, do they make you comfortable ? I leave all these things 
to Jones.” 

“Quite comfortable, I thank you, madam.” 

“If you find there is any thing that you require for your 
comfort or your happiness, ^et Jones know ; and if she neg- 
lects your orders, inform Sir Vincent. He has more energy 
than I have, and relieves me of ali that sort of trouble.” 

“ I thank your ladyship,” Laura said. “ There is nothing 
I require for my comfort ; and, for my happiness, I fear it 
would be unjust to compel poor Jones to provide for that,” 
she added, mentally. 

Then bidding her ladyship good-moming, she retired from 
her presence. 

In the outer hall, she found herself waylaid by another 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


145 


footman, with Sir Vincent’s respects to her, and a request that 
she would favor him with a few moments’ conversation in the 
library. 

A^ain Laura smiled to herself, thinking: 

“ If the baronet is no more alive to his paternal duties than 
her ladyship, this interview will be a mere form.” 

She was shown into the richly-furnished library, filled with 
tlie treasures of literature, science and art of two centuries of 
accumulation, and lighted by one tall. Gothic window of 
stained glass, that diffused “ a dim, religious light” through- 
out the vast room. In a rich, antique chair, beside a writing- 
table, in the centre of the room, sat a tall, stout, very hand- 
some man, aged about forty-five. Regular and well-chiselled 
features, dark gray eyes, heavy, black eyebrows, a large, 
well formed nose, and a full, handsome mouth, were all 
framed in by a luxuriant growth of shining black hair and 
whiskers. 

On seeing Miss Elmer, he arose with a stately courtesy, 
and placed a chair for her, saying, as he handed her to her 
seat : 

“ I requested the favor of your company here. Miss Elmer, 
that I might consult with you upon the subject of your new 
pupils.” 

Laura bowed and waited his further speech. 

“ You have, I presume, just left Lady Lester ?” 

“ Yes, Sir Vincent.” 

“ The delicate constitution, and the numerous social re- 
sponsibilities of her ladyship, prevent her from giving that 
attention to her children that she would otherwise.” 

The baronet paused. He seemed anxious to defend his 
wife’s indifference to her children, yet unable to do so with 
truth. At length he said : 

“ You have seen your future pupils ?” 

I have seen them.” 

“ I hope, that notwithstanding their very neglected condi- 
tion, you find them not unpromising subjects.” 

“ Decidedly not. They seem to me to be unusually gifted, 
though somewhat undisciplined,” said Laura, with a smile 
adding, “ however, I should have informed you, sir, that I havp 
9 


146 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


little experience in children, never having filled the situation 
of governess before.” 

The baronet looked up in surprise, then drawing towards 
him an open letter that lay upon the table, and referring to it, 
he said : 

“Ah! yes, Dr. Seymour has written ‘that unforeseen re- 
verses have placed Miss Elmer under the necessity of seeking 
a situation in life for which she was not brought up, yet, for 
which her moral and intellectual qualifications eminently fit 
her.’ I must condole with your misfortunes, and at the same 
time I congratulate myself and my children. Miss Elmer.” 

Laura bowed, and remained silent. 

The baronet then went over the list of studies that he 
wished his children to pursue, and in conclusion, said : 

“ I hope you will allow me to look into your school-room 
sometimes. Miss Elmer, to aid you by such counsels as my 
somewhat longer and more intimate acquaintance with your 
pupils might suggest,” said the baronet, smiling. 

“ My inexperience will thank you, sir.” 

And seeing that the interview was closed, she was about 
to rise, when the door swung slowly open, and a figure glided 
in that immediately arrested her attention. 

It was that of a young woman of about twenty years of 
age, who w^ould have been beautiful but for the deathly pallor 
of her thin face, that looked still more ghastly white in con- 
trast with the raven blacKness of her hair, eyebrows, and 
large, wild eyes, and her dress of deep mourning. 

The baronet started, changed countenance, and arose in 
haste and agitation, and advanced to meet her. 

But she glided towards him, extending her thin, w^hitc 
arms, clasping her transparent hands, and fixing her wild, 
black e3^es in an agony of supplication upon his face. 

“ Helen, w^hy are you here ? What is this ?” he inquired, 
in a deep and smothered voice, as he took her hand, and led 
uer, unresisting, from the room. 

Feeling it to be impossible to follow them, Laura Elmer 
retained her seat for a few moments, at the end of which time 
the baronet re-entered the library, in a state of agitation 
almost frghtful to beh'ld. The veins of his forehead were 


THE BRI DAL EVE. 


147 


swollen out like blue cords, his nostrils were dilated and 
quivering, his lips grimly clenched, his cheeks highly flushed, 
his dark eyes contracted and glittering, his large frame shak- 
ing. He evidently struggled to suppress the exhilition of his 
emotions as he resumed his seat, and, trembling, dropped his 
ace upon his hands. 

Laura Elmer felt painfully the awkwardness of her position 
It was impossible to speak to him, and nearly equally imj)os- 
sible to withdraw without doing so, while it seemed indelicate 
to remain and witness the strong emotions that he so evidently 
tried to conceal. 

At length seeing him deeply absorbed in his own feelings, 
she softly arose, wit'h the intention of gliding from the room, 
when the baronet, somehow perceiving her purpose, abruptly 
started forward, saying — “ I beg your pardon. Miss Elmer,'” 
opened the door, and courteously held it open until she 
passed out. 

Laura Elmer retraced her steps to the school-room. 

As she entered she was warmly greeted by the smiles Ox . 
her young charges, who assured her that they had conscien- 
tiously occupied the time of her absence in devotion to their 
studies. 

“ Not disinterested attention, I assure you. Miss Elmer, as 
we remember the old condition of, no lessons in the school- 
room, no drive out in the park,” said Miss Lester. 

Laura looked up inquiringly, and learned from the explana- 
tion that ensued, that the governess was always expected to 
take her pupils for a daily afternoon drive in the park, and 
that they were now quite ready to recite their lessons and 
pn'pare for their airing. 

Laura Elmer felt no sort of objection to this arrangement, 
and as soon, therefore, as the lessons were faithfully des 
patched, the young ladies’ carriage was ordered, and they 
drove out. 

The park was, as usual at this hour of the day, filled with 
a brilliant crowd in open carriages, of'every description, inter- 
njingled with gay and noble Equestrian figures. Laura Elmer 
enjoyed her drive through the park even more than her pupils 
did jince to her the scene was as new as it was interesting. 


148 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Presently — 

“ There is Ruthven,” exclaimed Miss Lester, as a young 
gentleman, mounted on a spirited horse, rode up to the side 
of the carriage, and, lifting his hat, said ; 

“ Well, young ladies, I hope you are enjo3nng your drive V' 

' Excellently well. Miss Elmer, this is our elder brother, 
Ruthven,” said Miss Lester. 

The young gentleman, smiling at this very informal pre- 
sentation, bowed, and hoped Miss Elmer was well, and not 
too much incommoded by his unmanageable sisters. 

Miss Elmer re-assured Mr. Lester upon that point,' and, in 
doing so, for the first time looked up at him. 

He was a fine-looking young man very much like his 
father, having the same tall and well-proportioned frame, 
though much less stout than that of the baronet ; and the 
same dark eyes, and heavy eyebrows, and regular features 
surrounded by jet black hair and whiskers, though his face 
was less full, and his countenance less mature, than that of 
the elder man. He rode beside the carriage, conversing 
gayly with his sisters, for some time, and then suddenly in- 
quired : 

“ Is her ladyship out to-day 

I am sure I don’t know. I have not seen mamma for a 
week,” replied Miss Lester. 

• ‘‘And poor Helen inquired the young man, lowering his 
voice. 

“ Hush 1 for mercy’s sake I you quite frighten me,” replied 
his sister, in the same low tone, and with changing cheek, 
and trembling voice. 

The young man sighed deeply, and murmuring inaudiblj", 

“ Her name was banished from each ear^ 

Like words of waatoness aud fear, 

tuined and rode sadly away. 

A strange, terrified silence fell upon the little party, which 
lasted until they returned home. After an early tea and 
supper, Laura Elmer retired to bed. And thus ended tho 
first day of her new phase of life. » 




THE BRIDAL EVE. 


149 


CHAPTER XIIL 


THE MYSTERIOUS COMPANION. 



Oh ! not when hope is brightest 
Is all love's sweet enchaiuinents known 


Oh! not when hearts are lightest 
Is true affection’s fervor shewn: 


But when life's clouds o’ertake us, / 

And the cold world is clothed in gloom, 


When summer friends forsake us, 

vThe rose of love is best in bloom — Pringle, 


Ferdinand Cassinove took his way to Grosvenor-sqiiare, 
where he arrived at about mid-day. After sending in his 
card, he was invited to walk up into the library, and was 
immediately shown into the presence of Sir Vincent Lester, 
'who arose courteously to receive him. Placing a chair for 
his visitor, he said : 

“ I ansvrered your advertisement in the Times, Mr. Cas- 
sinove, inviting you to call upon me here, because I judge 
that a cjuicker and more satisfactory arrangement might be 
concluded in a personal interview than through an epistolary 
correspondence.” 

Ferdinand bowed in assent, and took the offered seat. 

“ Should we come to terms, Mr. Cassinove, your principal 
charge will be the education of my son Percy, a youth of 
some twelv'e years of age. You will also be required to give 
lessons in Greek and Latin to my two younger daughters. 
Can you undertake so much ?” inquired the baronet. 

“ Certainly, Sir Vincent. The whole task is by no means 
a heavy one,” said Ferdinand. 

“ I trust you will find it as light as you anticipate,” 
answered the baronet, with a smile. 

Cassinove bowed. 

“The salary is fifty pounds per annum. I hope it mtets 
your views.” 

“Abundantly, Sir Vincent,” replied Ferdinand, to whom 
the salary offered seemed to be a verj’’ liberal one, 

“ I have now, therefore, only to introduce you to yoar 


150 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


pupils, if you will be kind enough to accompany me to the 
school- room. James, go before and announce us,” said the 
baronet, rising, and leading the way. 

Upon entering the school-room, Miss Lester and Master 
Percy were found to be its only occupants. 

“ Where is your governess, my dears ?” inquired their 
father. 

“ In the music-room, giving Lucy her music lessons, re- 
plied Miss Lester, and at the same time a sweet voice was 
heard rehearsing some simple melody. 

The baronet presented their tutor to the young people. 

Cassinove had scarcely greeted his pupils, when, raising 
his eyes, he stood face to face with the goddess of his wor- 
ship — Laura Elmer. 

The blood rushed to his brow, his strong frame trembled ; 
he bowed low, to conceal the agitation he could not control. 

“ Miss Elmer, Mr. Cassinove, my son’s new tutor,” said 
the baronet. 

“ I have met Mr. Cassinove before,” replied Laura, with *\ 
smile, as she offered her hand. 

Ferdinand barely touched that white hand, bowing lowly 
over it as though it had been the hand of a queen. To him, 
indeed, she was ever a queen. In losing all her worldly 
glory, she had lost no single ray of that halo with which her 
noble womanhood was surrounded. Thus he bowed lowly 
over her hand as though it had been the hand of a queen. 

“ Ah, you have met before I” v»bserved the baronet, glanc- 
ing from the smiling face of Laura to the agitated counte- 
nance of Cassinove, in a tone, and with a look of slight 
vexation, as strange as it was certain. 

Then recovering his usual air of calm and stately courtesy, 
be said : 

“ But we will not further trespass upon Miss Elmer,” and 
bowing, led the way from the school-room back to the library. 

It was arranged that the new tutor should come the next 
day, and enter upon his duties, and Ferdinand Cassinove 
returned to his humble lodgings to prepare for his change of 
residence. 

lie was full of deTghted astonishment at meeting Misa 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


151 


Elmer, joy at the certainty of being domesticated under the 
same roof with herself, and faith and hope that seemed to 
anticipate the slow progress of time, and see “ the future in 
the instant.” He felt sure that Fate smiled upon his wor- 
shi{)ping heart. It liad deprived Laura Elmer of all those 
external advantages that had formed an insuperable barrier 
between her as a patrician and him as a plebeian. Fate, at the 
last moment, had snatched her from the arms of a man incapable 
of appreciating and unworthy of possessing her, and had left her 
free to accept the holier love that she had inspired in the bosom 
of a purer worshipper. Fate had domesticated her under the 
same roof with himself; would not Fate complete her good 
work, and give him the heart of this woman whom he coveted 
as the end and object of his whole life’s endeavors — as the 
richest gift in all the treasuries of fortune ? 

“ But how pale she is ! how much she has suffered !” thus 
ran his thoughts, “ and most of all through the discovery of 
_ her lover’s worthlessness. But she will not suffer long from 
Jiat source. She knows now that her love was a grievous 
mistake, unfounded upon any really estimable qualities in her 
.over. And in Laura Elmer’s soul, love cannot survive esteem 
— it is now the death-throes of her dying love that causes her 
all this suffering ; when that misguided passion is dead, she 
will have peace. And meantime, I must be very patient and 
discreet; I must not let the secret worship of my heart be 
seen in any look or tone that may alarm her delicacy. And 
can I SO’ control myself? I think so ; for to be hear her, and 
to see her dear eyes, to hear her dear voice every day, is such 
happiness, that having that, I can wait patiently for years until 
she can bear to listen, and I may dare to plead my love 1 
Oh, Laura ! Laura Elmer ! in losing all that you have lost, 
if 3"ou could but estimate what you have gained ! The single 
devotion of a heart that no malice of destiny can ever change, 
that will love you in poverty as in wealth, in illness as in 
health, in old age and infirmity as in youth an.! beauty, that 
will love you through all time, and through all eternity I” 

Wrapped in these thoughts, Cassinove reached his humble 
lodgings, where he encountered a scene that soon put to flight 
all his beautiful '^ay-dreams. 


152 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


As be entered the small shop, he found Mrs. Russel wring- 
ing her hands in distress, and the two little children crying 
around her. The shelves were dismantled, and the drawers 
open and rifled. 

“Why, what is the matter?” hastily inquired Cassinove, in 
surprise. 

“ Oh, Mr. Cassinove 1 Oh, sir I” was all that the sobbing 
woman could reply. 

“What has occurred ?” again inquired the young man. 

“ Oh, Mr. Cassinove I Oh, sir I and the rent due to-day I” 
cried the widow. 

“ Oh 1 it’s an execution I” ^aid the young man, in a tone 
of compassion. 

“An execution? Lord, no, indeed, sir; if it were oi\\jthat^ 
I might have met the costs I” 

“ Then you have been robbed !” exclaimed Cassinove, in 
dismay. 

“ Robbed I oh, no, sir I if it were only a robbery, I could 
apply to the police, you know.” 

“ Then, if it is neither an execution nor a robbery, what is 
it ?” inquired Ferdinand, looking in consternation at the 
emptied shop. 

“Oh, Mr. Cassinove. Oh, sir!” was still the only reply of 
the poor woman. 

A dreadful suspicion occurred to Cassinove that the widow’s 
stock had been seized by the police as stolen goods. 

“ Good Heaven, Mrs. Russel ! You have not been so un- 
fortunate as to have purchased your stock from smugglers, or 
any such illegal traders I” he exclaimed, in dismay. 

“ Oh ! Lord bless your soul, no, sir I I deal only with re- 
spectable houses.” 

“ Then, in the name of every thing inexplicable, if you have 
not been robbed, nor had your stock taken in execution, nor 
had it seized by the police as contraband — what is the cause 
of your loss ?” 

“Oh, Mr. Cassinove! oh, sir!” exclaimed the widow, put- 
ting her handkerchief to her eyes, and weeping vehemently. 

“ Don’t cry, mother,” here put in the boy Frank. “ Indeed, 
we didn’t know any better, he was such a mce-iooking gentle- 
man ” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


153 


Oh, yes, such a very nice-looking gentleman, mamma, 
with a nice rosy face and nice light hair; and he took me up 
in his arms, and kissed me,” said little Emily. 

“And he told me to give his love to you, and said that it was 
all right. And we thought it was all right, because be said 
so, and he was such a very nice-looking, smiling, pleasant- 
spoken gentleman.” 

“ Right I right I oh I” sobbed the poor woman, in a parox- 
ysm of indignation and grief 

“If you will only explain to me what has happened, pei- 
haps I may be able to serve you in some way,” said the young 
man, compassionately. 

“ Oh 1 Mr. Cassinove, come into my room, and I will tell 
you what the children have told me,” said Mrs. Russel, with 
a deep sigh, as she arose, shut and barred the shop door, and, 
followed by Cassinove and the two children, led the way into 
the back parlor. She handed a chair to the young man, and 
then seated herself with the children on each side of her, their 
heads laid together upon her lap, and her arms around them, 
as though she would gather and defend them against some 
impending peril. 

“ I will tell you as they told me, Mr. Cassinove,” she said. 
“You must know that soon after you walked out this morn- 
ing, I went out to market, leaving the shop in charge of 
Frank and Emily. Well, it seems that I had not been gone 
above five minutes, when a fly drove up, and a stranger 
alighted, and came into the shop, and inquired for me. First 
he asked : 

“ ‘ Is this Mrs. Russel’s shop V 

“ ‘ Yes, sir,’ replied the children 

“ ‘ Mrs. Ruth Russel’s V 

“ ‘ Yes, sir,’ they repeated. 

“ ^And you are Frank V inquired the man, addressing Jhe 
boy. 

“ ' Yes, sir,’ replied my son. 

“ ‘And you, my pretty lass, are Emily?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, sir,’ answered the girl. 

“ ‘And where is your dear mother V 
‘ Gone to market, sir.’ 


154 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ ‘ Right 1 I thought she would have been back to meet me 
before this time, but it is all right,’ said the gentleman, smil- 
ing very sweetly, and adding, by way of interrogative : 

“ ‘ She is a good mother 

“ ‘ Oh, yes, sir, and we love her so dearly,’ said the children 

“ ‘And she sends you to school, and teaches you to say you: 
prayers ?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, yes, sir.’ 

“ ‘ That is right, my dears. Always mind your mother, 
and keep the commandments of your Maker ; be sure to go 
to church, and never forget to say your prayers every day, 
and so you will be sure to go to heaven.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, sir,’ said the children, who took the stranger to be 
a minister of the gospel. 

“ ‘And now,’ said the stranger, ‘ I must proceed to business. 
I am sorry your mother is not here to assist me, but I must 
do the best I can without her.’ 

“And the nice-looking man went behind the counter, and 
began to take down the goods. 

“ ‘ What are you doing, sir ?’ inquired the children. 

“ ‘ Oh, my dears, it is all right ; the trustees of the Orphan 
Asylum bought up all her stock for the poor orphans, to help 
your dear mother.’ 

“And so saying, the stranger continued to remove from the 
shelves rolls of silk and velvet that composed the most valua- 
ble part of the stock. 

“When he had piled upon the counter as much as he could 
carry away, he quietly called the cabman and ordered him to 
assist in carrying the goods out, and packing them inside and 
on top of the fly. 

“ Lastly, he coolly emptied the till of all its contents, put 
them into his pocket, kissed Emily, shook hands with Frank, 
told the astonished children to give his love to their dear, 
good mother, and got into the fly and drove ofl* — having 
stripped the shop of all things that were valuable,” concluded 
the widow. 

Here both children burst into loud sobs again. 

“ He was such a nice-looking gentleman, with nice curly 
hair, and nice blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, and white teeth j 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


155 


and he smiled so kindly, and spoke so pleasantly, and kissed 
me, and sent his love to ma ! I did not think he could be a 
bad man,” wept little Emily. 

“ And he was dressed all in black, like a parson, and he 
g^ave us such good advice ; I am sure I thought it was all 
right,” sobbed Franky. 

“ There ! I do not blame you, I am sure, poor children I 
You are as unfortunate and as innocently so as your poor 
mother,” said the widow, trying to soothe them, though 
weeping bitterly herself the while. 

“ Then it appears that, after all, you have been robbed, 
coolly robbed, in broad daylight, by a most daring villain ; 
and no time must be lost in setting the police upon his 
track,” exclaimed Cassinove, starting up. 

“ Stay,” said the widow, catching hold of his coat and 
stopping him. “ I told you that it was not a robbery ; if it 
had been a simple robbery, I should have known what to do 
from the first. Besides, would any robber, even the most 
daring, have come and dismantled my shop in broad day- 
light ?” 

‘‘ Then, in the name of Heaven, if not a robbery, what was 
it ? and, if not a robber, who was it that riddled your house 
in this manner?” inquired. Cassinove, in great astonishment. 

The widow looked in his face with a sorrowful, deprecating 
gaze, but said nothing. 

“ Do you know the man ?” inquired Cassinove. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Who is he ?” ' 

“ I dare not tell you. Oh I Mr. Cassinove, there are 
troubles in this world of which one must never speak, upon 
which no eye but that of God must ever look. Mine is such 
a one as that. You came in and found my house made 
desolate and myself and children weeping in the midst of our 
ruin. It is not the first time such a disaster has visited me, 
and it m^iy not be the last ; but if you had not come in and 
discovered our calamity, you never should have known it.” 

“ But your business is for the present broken up. What 
can you do ? And now, can I help you ?” 

“ Ah, Mr. Cassinove, you could not help me unless you 


156 


THE BRIDAL EVIl. 


could change the laws of the land. I and my children must 
leave this house with what haste we can, and seek safety in 
some obscure suburb. The greatest trouble is the unpaid 
rent. 1 foar the whole of my little household furniture will 
be stopped for that.” 

“ Do you mean to say that your mysterious visitor swept 
the till of all your money 

“ Of every penny ! and I have not a farthing, except ^ few 
shillings left from my marketing, and there are ten pounds 
rent due to-day.” 

Cassinove dropped his face into his hands and groaned. 
It was just at such times as these that he most bitterly felt 
his own poverty. At length he looked up and spoke : 

“ 1 have a few sovereigns — not as much as you want ; but 
they are heartily at your service, Mrs. Russell, as far as they 
will go towards settling the rent.” 

“I thank you, Mr. Cassinove. Heaven forbid that I should 
ever take such an advantage of your generosity. Rut one 
thing I beg of you — to see the agent of my landlord and get 
a little time,” said the widow, gratefully. 

“And who is he, Mrs. Russel ?” 

“ Mr. Noakes, the city agent of Sir Yincent Lester, who 
owns this block of buildings.” 

“ Sir Yincent Lester I Oh, I shall be able to manage the 
affair easily !” exclaimed Cassinove, brightening up, for he 
immediately resolved to pledge his salary and services in se- 
curity for the widow’s rent. “ So you may begin to pack up 
as soon as you please, while I go and seek an interview with 
Sir Yincent Lester,” he concluded, seizing his hat, and hurry- 
ing away to escape the widow’s fervent gratitude. 

He hailed a fly, and drove immediately to Grosvenor- 
square, where he asked to be admitted to Sir Yincent upon 
particular business. 

He was shown immediately to the library, where he found 
the baronet just where he had left him hours before, sitting 
reading at a centre-table. He advanced, bowed, apologized 
for his intrusion, and explained the nature of his errand. 

He then offered to pledge his salary as security for the 
widow’s rent, if she could be permitted to take away her 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 157 

goods and indulged in a few months’ time to make up the 
money to pay it. 

The baronet smiled dubiously. 

“ Now what does a generous and romantic young man like 
yourself expect me to do in this case of the distressed widow ? 
Doubtless you expect me to play the cold and cruel proprie- 
tor, who refuses to interfere, and refers you to his hard-hearted 
agent, who has private instructions to show no mercy to de- 
linquent debtors. I shall do nothing of the sort. Occasion- 
ally I give myself the pleasure of disappointing people,” he 
said ; and, drawing towards him writing materials, he wrote 
a few lines on a piece of paper and handed it to Cassinove. 

It was a receipt in full for the widow’s rent. 

“ God bless and prosper you, sir !” burst impulsively from 
the lips of the young man as he read this release. 

“ God bless and prosper us all !” said the baronet, smiling 
and holding out his hand. 

Cassinove seized and pressed it fervently, and then left the 
house, and hastened to carry the good news to Mrs. Russel. 

He found the poor woman in the midst of her packing. 
He handed her the receipt, and explained to her that it was a 
free gift from Sir Vincent Lester. 

Poor Mrs. Russel wept with gratitude. Cassinove then 
divided his little stock of money, and forced one half of it 
upon her as a loan. 

The same afternoon Mrs. Russel found another little houtye 
in an obscure part of the city, to which, upon the next day, 
she removed. 

Cassinove, who had remained helping her to the last, finally 
bade her adieu as he handed her into the cab that was to 
convey her and her children to their new home. Then he 
entered the fly that he had kept in waiting, and was driven 
to Grosvenor-square, to commence his new career as a pri- 
vate tutor. 

He was received by the baronet, who courteously installed 
iiim in a spacious closet adjoining the library, that had been 
fitted up as a study for himself and his pupil. 

He was informed that he should dine at tv\ o o’clock wdth 
Master Fer'*y, the little ladies, and their governess j and that 


158 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


this party were expected always to take their meals togethei 
in the sitting-room adjoining the little ladies’ school-room. 

Oh, joy I he would then be sure of meeting Laura Elmer 
at least three times a day. How much toil would he not be 
willing to undergo for the delight of seeing Laura Elmer 
thrice a day ! 

Accordingly, at two o’clock, they met at dinner. It was but 
a little party of five. Laura, the little girls, Cassinove, and 
Percy. No young gentleman first ordained and anxious for 
the credit of his cloth could have been more circumspect in 
manner, looks, and conversation than Ferdinand Cassinove 

And, as Laura Elmer observed him, his face appeared to . 
her to be strangely intimate. She wondered where, and 
under what circumstances of extreme interest they could have 
been, that she had seen that noble face before. She recol- 
lected perfectly of having seen him at Swinburne Castle, in 
attendance upon Colonel Hastings ; but that was not the 
scene that continued so vaguely, yet so persistently, haunting 
her imagination like some half-remembered dream. Suddenly 
the circumstances she was in search of flashed full upon her 
mind. It was the dream that she had had the first night she 
had slept in Lester House — the dream in which a man, bear- 
ing Cassinove’s form and features, had been ever at her side, 
through scenes of transcendent beauty, brightness, and joy, 
and whose hand had at last replaced upon her brow the lost 
coronet of Swinburne. Laura Elmer, as she recollected this 
fantastic dream, smiled at the vagaries of imagination that 
had mixed up the personality of her guardian’s amanuensis 
^ with the wild vision of a restless night, and she drew no 
auguries from it. She looked up again at the face to 
read there what it was that had caused it so to haunt her 
dreaiufe ; and, as she raised her eyes, she chanced to meet 
those of Cassinove fixed full upon her face. Both dropped 
then- eyes, blushing deeply, as with a sudden consciousness ; 
and soon after Miss Elmer gave the signal for rising from the 
table. 

Cassinove and his pupil retired, and then the young ladies 
passed into the adjoining school-room. 

Laura tad scarcely seated herself among her pupils before 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


159 


a servant appeared with a request from Sir Yincent that Miss 
Elmer would grant him a few minutes’ conversation in the 
drawing-room. 

Laura immediately arose and went thither. She found Sii 
Yincent pacing up and down the floor, with signs of serious 
disturbance upon his face and manner. He came immediately 
to meet her, took her hand, led her to a chair, and, seating 
himself near her, said, with much empressment : 

“ My dear Miss Elmer, I have taken the liberty of request- 
ing your presence here to-day, for the purpose, with your 
kind permission, of making you a confidante, and asking you 
a favor.” 

Laura bowed and waited his further words. 

In your first interview with me, in this room, you must 
have observed a young lady of- singular appearance, who 
came in for a moment and whom I met and led out again.” 

“Yes, sir, I observed her.” 

“ Did you — I beg you will forgive the question. Miss Elmer 
— but did you notice any thing remarkable about this lady 
inquired the baronet with interest. 

“ I noticed her extreme pallor, which, perhaps, seemed so 
ghastly only in contrast to her jet black hair and eyes, and 
her black dress. 1 noticed, also, a deep melancholy, ap 
proaching despair, in the expression of her features, and a 
sort of restrained frenzy in her glances and motions. I saw 
her but an instant, but in that instant I will not deny that her 
appearance impressed me very deeply.” 

“ Humph I humph !” muttered the baronet to himself, in a 
dubious tone, from which it was impossible to judge whethey 
he approved or disapproved of the interest expressed by Miss 
Elmer in the person alluded to. 

“ Miss Elmer, your appearance and manner, no less than 
the high encomiums of my friend. Dr. Seymour, give me the 
greatest faith in your prudence and benevolence.” 

Laura bowed in silence. 

The baronet seemed embarrassed, and doubted how to 
proceed. 

At length he said : 

“ Her name is Mrs Ravenscroft. For important reasons 


160 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


she lives in strict seclusion. Her home has hitherto been at 
Hurst HalL^ yar place in Yorkshire, but she has come up to 
town for a particular purpose. The seclusion that was de- 
sirable, even in the country, is quite indispensable for her in 
London, but she requires recreation, air, and gentle exercise, 
and she must take this in company of some proper companion, 
whose society and conversation will be her security. For 
she must be kept from all other pupils. This, Miss Elmer, 
is the confidence I had to repose in you. The favor I have 
to ask is, that you will be so kind as to take two hours daily, 
not from your own time, but from the scflool-room, and be- 
come the companion of this unhappy young woman in her 
drives. ” 

The baronet ceased, and Laura Elmer prepared to reply. 
The “ confidence” that he had professed to give her was but 
a half confidence at the best. Who was Mrs. Ravenscroft ? 
What were her relations with Sir Vincent and his family? 
What was the nature of her unhappiness — guilt or misfor- 
tune ? And what was the reason for her strict seclusion ? 
These were mysteries which Laura Elmer felt should have 
been elucidated before she should have been requested to be- 
come the companion of Helen Ravenscroft. 

“You are silent, Miss Elmer. I am well' aware that the 
service I venture to ask of you is a very important one. If 
you feel any reluctance to undertake it, pray do not hesitate 
to say so,” said the baronet, gently. 

“ 1 only wished to reflect for a few moments whether I 
could, with propriety, accept the charge you would honor me 
with I will at least drive out with the lady this afternoon, 
when I shall then be better able to judge.” 

“ I thank you more than you can imagine. Miss Elmer,” 
said the baronet ; and in the fervor of his gratitude he would 
have raised the hand of Laura to his lips, but that she coldly 
withdrew it, saying that she would go and prepare for her 
drive. 

Sir Vincent held the door open for her to pass out. She » 
paused one moment upon the threshold, and said — 

“ I have been in the habit of driving out daily with the 
y uug ladies j shall they join us in our drive this afternoon ?” 


THE B R I DA L EVE. 


161 ’ 


*^By no means , said the baronet, hastily, and with great 
emphasis; “ no means. They must forego the airing 
to-day, and after this, should you kindly continue to take 
charge of Helen in .her hours of recreation, why, other ar- 
rangements must be made for them.” 

Laura Elmer less satisfied than ever, bowed slightly, and 
withdrew. 

She returned to hei school-room, dismissed her pupils for 
the day, and then went to her own room to put on her bon- 
net and shawl for the drive. She had scarcely drawn on her 
gloves, when Lizzie, the little ladies’ maid, came to her door 
with Sir Vincent’s compliments, and the carriage was waiting. 

Laura Elmer went down to the front hall, in which she 
found Sir Vincent with a lady, clothed in black and closely 
veiled, leaning upon his arm. 

"When Laura came quite near, he went through a slight 
presentation, merely saying, in a very low tone : 

“Mrs. Eavenscroft, Miss Elmer.” 

Laura courtesied, and was about to offer her hand, when the 
lady, without raising her veil, gravely bowed, and immediately 
averted her head. 

Sir Vincent then led her out, and placed her in a carriage. 
He then returned to Laura, handed her into a seat beside 
Mrs. Kavenscroft, and told the coachman to drive to the park. 
As the baronet disappeared within, and as Laura was settling 
herself in the carriage, she observed a gentleman on horse- 
back emerge from around the corner, glance inquisitively at 
the occupant of the carriage, and then, as though unwilling 
10 be discovered, retreat behind the angle of the house. 

She had twice before noticed this individual loitering neai 
the entrance of Lester House. And now his appearance the 
third time, and seemingly with the same purpose of es])ion- 
age, filled her mind with vague surmises, which were, how- 
ever, unmixed with misgivings, for certainly there was 
nothing whatever sinister in the appearanct) of this man. 

He seemed to be about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, 
with a tall and elegant figure, a fine head, covered with sbin- 
ing,. light yellow^ hair, that fell in clustering curls around a 
forehead white, smooth, and round as that of childhood; his 
10 


162 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


features were delicate and regular, his eyebrows softly traced, 
his eyes blue, clear, and gentle in their gaze, his nose straight, 
lips and chin moulded into the very ideal of sweetness and 
benevolence. Frankness, affection, and gay, good humor were 
blended in the habitual expression of this captivating counte- 
nance. 

So Laura Elmer felt no misgiving at seeing this gentleman, 
for the third time, loitering near Lester House. His motives 
and purposes might be eccentric ; but could not, with such a 
face as that, be evil. 

The. carriage drove on, and in due time turned into the 
park. It was, as usual, thronged with visitors in carriages, 
on horseback, and on foot. 

The lady by Laura’s side 'had not once raised her veil or 
spoken a word ; and Laura herself was too much absorbed in 
thought to break her companion’s revery until they had 
reached the park, when, thinking it well to engage the un- 
happy lady in conversation, she said — 

“ There is quite a numerous assemblage of visitors here 
to-day. Will you not throw aside your veil, and look out V 

“ No, no ; but you may let down the windows, piease, the 
air is stifling,” replied the -lady, in a low voice. 

Laura opened the windows, and -the carriage wound slowly 
around one of the most beautiful and secluded avenues of 
the park. They had left the gay throng of fashionable 
visitors behind, and had reached a quarter frequented by 
nurse-maids and young children. 

“ See,” said Laura, “we have reached a very quiet part 
now ; will you not raise your veil, and breathe some of this 
delicious air ?” 

The lady put aside her veil, revealing again that fact* of 
ghastly pallor, with its bloodless lips, wild black eyes, ad 3 
shadowy black tresses. 

“ See I observe these various groups of little children as 
they pass; how much marked individuality there is even in 
these little people ; their very looks and manners tell their 
characters and histories. These, now, are the children of 
some wealthy citizen, with their pampered nurse — observe the 
children, ill flounces and sashes, hats and feathers — and see 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


163 


the consequential air of their over-dressed attendant,” said 
Laura, wishing to while her companion from her sorrowful 
thoughts. 

The pale woman looked languidly forth, but neither the 
pomposity of the nurse, nor the vanity of the babies, coul.l 
bring one smile to those sad lips. 

“ Yet, look again,” said Laura. “ There is quite a different 
group ; there is some poor young widow who has left her 
occupation to bring her little boy and girl out for an hour’s 
airing.” 

Mrs. Ravenscroft looked out, and seemed more interested 
in this little group. Her eyes became riveted to the two 
children, and, /like the flame of an expiring candle, the light 
and color flickering in and out from her usually death-like 
face. At last her fixed regard attracted the attention of the 
boy, who exclaimed, as he pulled h1s mother’s sleeve : 

“ Oh, mother ! see that beautiful, pale lady ! how she looks 
at us I” 

The young widow turned to look, when her attention. was 
immediately recalled by the little girl, who, starting forward 
and pointing eagerly, exclaimed : 

Mother, mother I Here I Here is the very man that 
took away all your stock.” 

The excitement and vehemence of the child drew all eyes 
to follow the direction of her outstretched finger 

The widow started, and turned deadly pale. 

Laura Elmer followed the index of the child, and to her 
surprise, saw the same man who had watched them from the 
corner of Lester House. He was still on horseback, and had 
evidently followed their carriage to the park. He had now 
reined *up his horse in a line with the side- windows of the 
carriage, but at a few yards distance, where he remained 
calmly upon the watch. 

Before Laura could form a conjecture upon the circum- 
stance, she was startled by a shriek from her companion. 

She turned quickly round, but Helen Ravenscroft had al- 
ready darted to the open window, from which she leaned, 
with her wild eyes fixed, and her thin white arms and clasped 
hands extended towards the horseman, and her piercing voice, 
calling in an agony of supplication ; 


m 


the bridal eve 


“ Rayburne I Rayburrie I Rayburne I Rayburne I” 

The thrilling anguish of those tones could never be described 
find never be forgotten. 

The horseman smiled and held out his arms. 

A wild cr}^ of joy burst from the lips of Helen, as she tried 
to break open the carriage door. But Laura threw her arms 
around the form of the excited woman, and forced her back 
into her seat, where her resistance suddenly ceased, and she 
sank in a swoon. 

Laura was greatly shocked. She stopped the carriage, and 
began to bathe the hands and face of the fainting woman with 
some Hungary water that she happened to have at hand. 
While thus anxiously engaged in trying to restore conscious- 
ness to her charge, she heard her own name softly called, and 
looking up, she saw Ferdinand Cassinove and young Percy 
Lester standing beside the carriage window. 

“ I beg your pardon, Miss Elmer, but my young friend 
Percy here recognized your carriage, and insisted on coming 
up. We were taking a walk through the park. Your com- 
panion seems to be ill. Can I be of any service ?” said the 
tutor. 

“ Oh, Mr Cassinove, I am so glad that you are here ! Yet 
I do n6l know how you can assist me either,” said Laura, 
suddenly recollecting Sir Vincent’s orders that Mrs. Ravens- 
croft was to be seen by no one ; yet greatly perplexed to 
know how she should get home with her strange charge, 
should the latter, upon her recovery, again become unman- 
ageable. 

“ The lady has fainted ! Let me assist you,” eagerly pleaded 
Cassinove, attempting to open the carriage door. 

“ No, no ; she is recovering now, and you must leave us 
if you please, Mr. Cassinove ; but first tell me how much of 
this strange scene have you witnessed ?” 

“ The whole of it. Percy and myself were walking in the 
park, as I said. He recognized your carriage, and we were 
coming towards it, when I happened to see my landlady with 
her two children ; I saw the little girl start forward, with an 
exclamation that drew every one’s attention, mine among the 
rest, towards a certain horseman, a light-haired gentleman, ia 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


165 


whom those children had painful cause to be interested; and 
I saw the frantic gestures and heard the wild cries of your 
friend before she fainted. And now, as you will not permit 
me to assist you in any way, I shall go in search of that 
mysterious light-haired Adonis, with whan also I have un 
account to settle on behalf of the widow and her orphans. 
So ! I shall see before night, whether, despite his very pre 
possessing appearance, and fascinating manner, I cannot bring 
him to the intimate acquaintance of the magistrates,” said 
young Cassinove, bowing and retiring. And lifting his hat, 
be bowed deeply, and walked rapidly away. 

Laura Elmer then gave her exclusive attention to hei 
patient, who had now recovered sufficiently to enable her to 
sit up and breathe freely. 

Helen Ravenscroft looked around, with a bewildered gaze, 
and, as memory seemed to return to her, sigh after sigh burst 
from her bosom. 

Laura gave orders to the coachman to drive home. 

“ I hope you feel better,” she said, in a gentle voice, turning 
to her strange companion. 

“ Better, better ! yes, I should be better in my grave I Oh, 
for that dreamless sleep ! Ah, why does death seize the 
loved and the happy from all the blessings of life, and leave 
the desolate and wretched to all its curses I” cried I^len, in 
the same piercing tones of anguish with which she had spoken 
to the stranger. 

“ You are very young to speak so hopelessly of life,” said 
Laura, soothingly. 

“ Young, am I ? That is the very worst of it — young, and 
hopeless, with no refuge but the grave, and that so distant !’* 

“ No, I cannot agree with you ; you are morbid ; whatever 
your sorrows may be, time* the consoler, can cure them ; your 
youth is in your favor ; the long years you have yet to live 
are full of bright possibilities, as every one’s future is, if tjjc^ 
will but believe it, bright possibilities that your own will may 
turn to glorious certainties.” 

Helen shook her head despairingly, crying; 

“ Oh. no ! no I You know not of whom you speak when 
you apply those words to me. Suppose a victim, sentenced 


166 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


to death, bound upon the dreadful wheel, and at every turn 
his bones are crushed, and his blood flows, he knows that the 
tortured body will never be unbound until life is extinct— is 
not his only hope, his only wish, his only possibility of rest — . 
death ? Thus it m with me. Despair is the dreadful wheel 
to which I am bound ; for life to me is one long, long pain, 
from which there can be no ease but in death — no hope but in 
the grav^e.” 

I am deeply grieved to hear you say so. I would that I 
could comfort you in some way.” 

Helen shook her head hopelessly. 

“ May I venture to ask you to confide in me ? It is some- 
times a great relief to open one’s heart to a friend ; and in- 
deed I wish to be yours,” said Laura, taking the thin, white 
hand of the poor girl in her own. 

But -still Helen shook her head in that most despairing 
manner. 

“ Can I serve you in no way, Mrs. Ravenscroft ?” pleaded 
Laura. 

“In no way but one : conceal from Sir Vincent the circum- 
Btance of my meeting ” 

She was unable to pronounce the namej her voice that had 
been faltering, now utterly sank, and she broke into a passion 
of tears and sobs. 

Laura drew the poor head down upon her own bosom, and 
with tender words and caresses sought to soothe this inex- 
plicable sorrow. 

At length Helen lifted her pale face, and softly inquired : 

“ Will you promise me this ?” 

“ Promise you what, dear?” 

“ Never to speak of the event that caused my swoon in the 
park ?” 

Laura hesitated. She felt herself in a position of trust to- 
^vards this unhappy young lady, and accountable for her safety 
and welfare to Sir Vincent Lester, who seemed to be her only 
protector. And the incident in the park, she thought, ought 
certainly to be made known to some one acquainted with the 
antecedents of Mrs. Ravenscroft, interested in her welfare, 
and able to judge of the possible effect of that strange meet- 
ing iijfon her happiness 


THE BRIDAL EVB. 


167 


** You do not speak I Oh ! do not betray me. I have no 
friend in the whole world — not even one I” said Hele i, clasp- 
ing her hands earnestly. 

“ Is not Sir Vincent Lester your friend ?” inquired Laura. 

“ Yes I Sir Vincent would bless the day that laid me in 
my early grave — he is so much friend as that ; for so, indeed, 
would I. But, oh I you do not answer me. Ah, do not betray 
me I On earth I have not one single friend — oh ! let me not 
find a spy.” 

‘ A spy 1” Laura’s fine face flushed ; could her compassionate 
attendance upon this unhappy lady be construed into espion- 
age, a course of conduct hateful to her noble spirit? 

“Dear Mrs. Ravenscroft,” she said, looking calmly into the 
wild and troubled eyes of her companion, and modulating her 
voice to its utmost tenderness, “ whatever the unknown cause 
of your sorrow may be, believe me, I sympathize with you 
from my soul. I will serve you to the extent of my power ; 
and 1 will never reveal the incident of this afternoon, unless I 
should be convinced that your own safety and welfare re- 
quired it.” 

Helen Ravenscroft caught and kissed the hand that was 
extended to her in pledge of the speaker’s sincerity, and then 
she drew her black veil across her face, and relapsed into 
silence, which lasted until they reached Lester House. 

Sir Vincent Lester met them in the hall, thanked Miss 
Elmer for her kindness, and took the hand of Mrs. Ravens- 
croft, and hoping that she had enjoyed the drive, he led her 
away. 

That same evening, after tea, Laura Elmer was alone in 
the sitting-room, used in common by the governess and her 
pupils, when there came a knock at the door, and to her 
gentle “ Come in,” entered Ferdinand Cassinove. 

“I pray you will forgive this intrusion, and grant me a few 
51 ) omen ts conversation, Miss Elmer,” he said. 

“ Certainly, Mr. Cassinove,” replied Laura, inviting him 
10 be seated. 

He took the offered chair, and said : 

“ I wish to speak to you. Miss Elmer, in regard to the ap- 
poa'*ance of that strange man, who caused so much consterna 


168 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


tion to your friend, as well as to my unfortunate landlady and 
her children. Forgive the question, but do you know any 
thing of him 

“ Nothing whatever, Mr. Cassinove, except that I have 
three times seen him lingering about the vicinity of Lester 
House, and that to-day he certainly followed our carriage 
from this house to the park.-’ 

“Did he attempt to speak to anyone in your carriage?” 

“No, not once. He kept out of our sight even until the 
moment that every one’s attention was called to him by the 
exclamation of the little girl.” 

“Little Emily Russel?” 

“Yes.” 

“It is most singular. You do not even know his name?” 

“No.” 

“ Nor suspect who he may be ?” 

“ No.” 

“ It is perfectly unaccountable. The unhappy lady in your 
carriage, who swooned at the sight of this strange man, called 
him Rayburne, I think?” 

“ Yes,” replied Laura, hearing again in imagination those 
piercing cries of anguish — “Rayburne ! Rayburne I Rayburne !” 

“And — pray forgive my inquisitiveness, I have an excel- 
lent reason for it, which I will soon explain — the lady gave 
you no explanation of her own painful interest in this man ?” 

“None whatever. I know no more than yourself.” 

“Possibly not so much, Miss Elmer. And now I will give 
you my reasons for taking so deep an interest in the discovery 
of this man. The little woman in black, with the two chil- 
dren, was my landlady, a widow, who kept a little trimming- 
shop in Berkeley street. A few days ago, during her absence, 
and while the shop was left in charge of the two children, 
this very man, whom they recognized, came in a cab in broad 
daylight, and removed the most valuable part of the widow’s 
little stock, telling the simple children that he had already 
})urchased it for the Orphan Asylum. The most singular feature 
in the whole case is, that the widow, even in her great trouble, 
refuses to seek legal redress, without assigning any reason for 
her strange forbearance. She would even have made m«. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


169 


promise not to endeavor to find him out, but I informed her 
that it was the duty of every honest man of the community 
to protect the innocent and prosecute the guilty. Your young 
friend who was so dreadfully agitated by the appearance of 
this man could afford some clue to his identity if she would. 
Can you not serve the cause of justice by inducing her to do 
so ?” 

“ Alas, no ! for she not only refused to give me any expla- 
nation of the cause of her agitation, but she even wrung from 
me a conditional promise not to inform Sir Vincent of her 
accidental encounter with this man. A very improper promise, 
I fear.” 

“A promise to be regretted, I doubt.” 

“You came here to seek counsel of me, Mr. Cassinove, and 
you find yourself under the necessity of giving advice. What, 
therefore, had I better do ? But for pity I should resign my 
charge of this young lady ; for I do not like the position of a 
spy, or the responsibility of keeping dangercfus secrets ; and 
one of these alternatives will be forced upon me as long as I 
continue to be the occasional companion of Helen Ravens- 
croft. What, therefore, had I better do ?” 

“What your own heart prompts you to do. Miss Elmer; 
not to abandon her, but to keep her secret so long as you can 
do so without injury to her. If you should see this man 
again, give me the earliest intimation of the fact. I have 
already lodged an accusation against him, with a description 
of his person, and with the single name Rayburne, that 1 
happened to hear. And now. Miss Elmer, I thank you fer- 
vently for these few moments of your conversation, and will 
detain you no longer from your pleasant avocations,” said 
young Cassinove, glancing half jealously at a volume of 
Dante, in the original Italian, that lay open upon the table, 
and towards which the eyes of Laura Elmer had once or 
twice wandered. 

She arose and gently bowed him out, and resumed her 
reading of Dante. Cassinove went to his own den, and 
passed the evening among those dry law-books that he had 
chosen for the study of his leisure hours. 

From this day, for several weeks, no more was seen or 


170 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


heard of the mysterious ‘^light-haired stranger,” whose ap- 
pearance had caused so much disturbance. 

Life went on, at Lester House, in a monotonous routine. 

Sir Yincent spent his days reading and writing in the 
library, and his nights at the House of Commons. What 
hours he took for sleep only his valet knew. 

Lady Lester passed her mornings in bed, and her evenings 
at some fashionable rout, play, or opera. 

Laura Elmer employed the forenoon with the education of 
I'.er pupils, and the afternoon in driving out with Mrs. Raven- 
scroft. whom she never chanced to see or even to here of at 
any other time, always meeting and parting with her at the 
carriage door. The evenings, Laura’s only time of recreation, 
were spent in reading and writing in the little sitting-room. 

Ferdinand Cassinove passed the morning in the study with 
his pupils, the afternoon in a stroll through the park, and the 
evening among the law-books in his own little room in the 
fourth story of Lester House. He met Laura Elmer only at 
meal times, or for an hour in the school-room twice a week, 
when he gave her pupils lessons in Latin and Greek. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

MORE MYSTERIES. 


False friends, like insects of a sunainer’s day, 

Bask in the sunshine, but avoid the shower— 
Uncertain visitants, they flee away. 

Soon as misfortunes’s cloud begins to lower. 

Into life’s bitter cups true friendship drops 
Balsamic sweets to overpower the gall — 

True friends, like ivy and the wall it props. 

Both stand together, or together fall. — F. Skurry. 


Light came back to the dark eyes, and color to the pale 
cheeks of Laura Elmer. Some new spring of life -warmth 
ind inspiration seemed opened in her soul. There were few 
in that large household that cared to observe the looks of the 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 



governess, else they must have seen the change that was 
corning over her countenance ; the spiritual beauty that at 
once softened and irradiated her noble features, gave a sweeter, 
cleai'er tone to her rich, deep voice, and a more elastic grace 
to all her stately motions. She seemed, indeed, as one who 
had found, at last. 

The secret of some happy dream, 

She did not care to tell. 

She seemed to have discovered, within the depths of her 
own spirit, the secret of an infinite content. For all the 
ends of earthly happiness she appeared to be sufficient unto 
herself, as one whose treasures were all within, safe from ex- 
ternal vicissitudes, independent of exterior circumstances. 

Indeed, there was little in her. outer life to strengthen, 
comfort, or cheer her. She saw no company, went to no 
places of amusement, had no congenial friends. Her morn- 
ings were passed in the school-room and music-room with 
her young pupils ; her afternoons in driving out with Mrs. 
Ravenscroft, who had lapsed into silent reserve ; and her 
evenings in the solitude of her own room, where she occupied 
her time in reading and writing. 

Only at meal times, and in the presence of her pupils, she 
met Mr. Cassinove and his young charge. Master Lester. 

She had not seen Lady Lester once since the interview in 
her ladyship’s dressing-room. 

Sir Vincent Lester frequently visited the school-room, and 
often sent to request the presence of Miss Elmer in the 
library. 

And it might have been observed that the only occasions 
upon which Miss Elmer’s clear brow was clouded were those 
of the baronet’s visits to the school-room, or her own en- 
forced attendance in the library. 

Children frequently see and hear every thing without un- 
derstanding any thing. They saw their father’.'? solicitous 
attention to all their governess’s needs and comforts, his 
-eadiness to serve her with advice or assistance, his un vary- 
ing kindness in every word and deed, and they saw the 
reserve with which Miss Elmer received all absolutely 
necessary attentions, and tb'> coldness with which she ro 
pelled all others. 


172 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


** I do think Miss Elmer is less than grateful to our papa ; 
he is as kind to her as ever he can be ; he never was half so 
good to any governess we ever had before. I am sure, I do 
not think he ever spoke three words to Miss Primrose in his 
life, and as for Mademoiselle Bellejour, I do not think he 
even knew her by sight ! And, here, since Miss Elmer has 
been with us, he visits the school-room every day to see how 
we get on, and whether he can assist her. And she answers 
him as coldly as possible, and without ever looking at him ! 
I think she is very unthankful !” said Miss Lester. 

“ So do I !” chimed in little Lucy ; “ because whenever I 
want any thing, I have only to tell papa Miss Elmer says I 
ought to have it, and I get it. Now, I did want a pony so 
badly, and pa would never let me have one, you know ! 
AVell, so yosterda}^ I said to Miss Elmer — ‘ Don’t you think 
I ought to have a little pony?’ and she saM, ‘Yes, dear.’ 
And so 1 went to pa, and said, ‘ Papa, dear, Miss Elmer 
says I really ought to have a pony, and learn to ride.’ And 
he said, ‘Did Miss Elmer say so ?’ and I told him, ‘Yes.’ 
And he said, I should have one. And, now, when you want 
any thing, you can get it in the same way.” 

“ Not if Miss Elmer continues to treat papa with so much 
coldness, because he will get tired of being good to such an 
ungrateful person. She is really rude to him. I am sure I 
do not see why she should treat him so,” said Miss Lester. 

The entrance of their governess put a stop to this con- 
versation. 

And, indeed, if Laura Elmer had been upon oath, and 
forced to give an answer to the question, why she doubted, 
feared, and disliked Sir Vincent Lester, she would not have 
given a satisfactory reason. He. was a very handsome, digni- 
fied, and graceful gentleman, of a highly-cultivated intellect, 
highly-polished address, and an unblemished character and 
reputation. In his manners to Miss Elmer, as to all others, 
there was nothing to which even the most fastidious could 
take exception. And yet Laura Elmer, usually so thankful 
for all true kindness, felt towards Sir Vincent not only in- 
gratitude, but resentment and distrust, which she could 
neither understand nor control And. as 1 said, the onl.y 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 173 

jccasions upon which her clear brow was clouded were those 
of the visits of Sir A iiicent to the scUool-rooui, or of her own 
required attendance in the library. 

Jjaura Elmer kept up lier correspondence with her old pas- 
tor, Dr. Seymour, and through him heard frequently of Rose, 
who, as her prospects brightened, and her position settled 
into stability, was zealously courted by the old country fami 
lies. The worthy rector gave the most satisfactory account 
of her improvement, admitting, however, that she had the 
advantage of an excellent plain education as a foundation 
upon which to raise a superstructure of graceful accomplish- 
ments. 

It was near the commencement of the fashionable season 
in lioadou that Laura Elmer received a letter from Rose 
lierself. It was brought to her in the evening mail, and 
placed in her hands while she sat alone, employed in writing, 
in the sitting-room. Laura observed with a smile the 
coronet and arms of Etheridge upon the seal. She opened 
the missive and read : 

“ Swinburne Castle, January Slh, 18 — . 

“ 1\Iy Dearest Miss Elmer : — I am so weary of waiting 
for a letter to give me permission to write to you that at 
length I presume to take the initiative, and commence the 
correspondence, though, indeed, I have been writing to you 
in thought ever since you left this place. You may thank 
Heaven, Miss Elmer, that it was only in thought, for, if I 
had put upon paper one-half of what I have said to you in 
fancy, you could not have found time to read, or space to 
stow my ei)istles. One-half my time I find myself apologiz- 
ing to heaven and earth for accepting the strange elevation 
A) which you have raised me, and the other half I am doubt- 
ing the evidence of m}^ own senses concerning this. 

“ Often of an evening, sitting alone before the fire in the 
vast, sombre library, with the literature of centuries piled up' 
around me the portraits of the grim old barons frowning 
down upon me, and the twilight deepening around me, with 
no familiar .sight or sound connected witli my former life near 
m(i» I fall into a deep and painful revery, in which I doubt 
the reality of all my present strange surroundings, and won- 


174 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


der whether I am not really lying in my little bed, in th< 
attic of my mother’s cottage, ill of some dangerous brain- 
fever, and whether all this drama of Swinburne Castle, with 
its towers and keep, its abbey, church, and park, and chase, 
and its retinue of servants, with all the attendant circum- 
stances of my sudden elevation, is not the mere phantasma- 
goria of a delirious brain, while my reason lies imprisoned in 
a crust of unconsciousness to all the real circumstances of my 
cottage home and my mother’s presence. And I long to 
break the spell, to cry out with a cry that shall burst through 
the barrier of insensibility and delirium, and place me again 
in communion with the realities of life ; for the sternest 
reality is safer than the most flattering dream. 

“And even when my mind is clearest and strongest, this, 
my present life, is very like a dream — as airy, transient, and 
unreal as any vision of the night 1 It cannot last. Miss 
Elmer. Of that I am calmly and soberly certain ; for I feel 
that I am no more Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne than I 
am Empress of Russia. There is^nothing real, substantial, 
^ and permanent in my present position. I am only a silly 
little puppet, dressed up as a baroness by the caprice of for- 
tune, or a figure in a masquerade that must soon be over, 
or a poor player peeress, who must ‘ fret her hour upon the 
stage’ until the play is done, and then ‘be seen no more.’ 

“ I think of Lady Jane Grey, poor thing, who for ten 
glorious days played her great role as Queen of England, 
and then laid down her life in payment of that royal drama, 
and I wonder what fearful compensation Fate will exact from 
me for daring to take upon myself for a season the part of a 
peeress. We shall see 1 

“ There are those in the neighborhood, however. Miss 
Elmer, who would make me discard all these doubts, and 
believe myself a baroness in reality. 

“Among the county aristocracy who have run the risk of 
taking me up before the House of Lords shall have decided 
upon my case, the most important is the Duchess of Beresleigh, 
of Beresleigh Court. You knew, of course, that the late duke 
occupied a distinguished diplomatic position on the continent. 
He died at Berlin about two years ago j but the family 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


76 


remained abroad for the health of their income, ] am told, 
until this winter, when they have all returned to Beresleigh 
Court. The family consists of the duchess, the young duke, 
and his sisters, the ladies Katharine, Matilda, and Annie 
Wardour ; they are all excessively kind to me. The duchess 
has made me promise that after the House of Lords shall 
have decided upon my ease, I will accompany her to London, 
and remain her guest at Beresleigh House, for the whole of 
the season. She undertakes to become my chaperone in 
society, and to present me to their Majesties. 

“ But now, my dearest Miss Eliner, what do you suppose 
to be the greatest pleasure to which I look forward in coming 
to town ? Can you not guess ? It is the meeting with my 
best beloved and most esteemed Miss Elmer. 

“And now I have a favor to ask of you. There has been 
a new poem called ‘ Woman,’ written by an anonymous 
writer, and reviewed in all the principal journals of the day. 
I have read the reviews, with many extracts from that beau- 
tiful work ; yet these slight tastes have only stimulated 
my mental appetite for a feast of the whole volume. The 
reviewers, as you see, are lost in conjecture as to the author- 
ship of the poem, and even the sex of the author ; some 
ascribing it to a man and some to a woman. The duke, who 
has a highly cultivated taste, and a very discriminating judg- 
ment, sums up his criticism in these words : ‘ It is written 
with masculine power, yet no man could have written it.’ 
Miss Elmer, if you have read this poem, you will forgive me 
for talking so much about it. If you have not read it, get 
the volume, and you will not blame me. Please write soon, 
and tell me about yourself, for all that affects you, interests 
your faithfully affectionate, ’ Rosamond Etheridge.” 

After perusing this letter, Laura Elmer sat holding it open 
in her hand, with her smiling eyes fixed upon vacancy, 
murmuring — 

“ It is understood ; it has reached one heart and soul at 
least ; one, too, through whom its influence for good may 
flow to benefit a thousand others.” 

While she sat in this happy dreaming revery, there was a 
f^eutle knock at the door. 


176 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Believing it to come from one of her pupils, she bade the 
visitor enter, and, looking up, beheld to her surprise the 
master of the house. 

The baronet had never before intruded into this apart- 
ment. With a sudden flush upon her cheek, Laura arose to 
meet him. 

The baronet was a man who could do an essentially rude 
thing in the most refined manner, paradoxical as it may seem. 
Bowing, and waving his hand in the most courteous manner, 
and modulating his voice to the lowest and sweetest key, he 
said — 

“ Forgive my intrusion. Miss Elmer, and pray resume your 
seat.’^ 

But Laura remained standing, with her hand resting upon 
the table, lest, if she sat down. Sir Vincent should feel at 
liberty to follow her example. He had tact enough to under- 
stand her, and advancing to the table, he said : 

“ I should not have ventured to intrude upon you. Miss 
Elmer, but that I have brought with me my apology. Here 
is a new work that is attracting much attention in the literary 
world— a poem by an unknown author. I have perused it 
with niuch deeper feelings than those of admiration. I know 
of none who could appreciate and enjoy this beautiful creation 
of poetic genius more thoroughly than yourself.” 

Laura Elmer bowed coldly in reply to this compliment. 

“ I hope you will do me the favor of using this copy ; it is 
full of my marks, but I trust that it will not be very much 
less acceptable or interesting on that account,” continued the 
baronet, quite unconscious of the covert vanity betrayed in 
this sentence. 

“ Sir Vincent Lester’s literary taste is indisputable,” replied 
Laura. 

He then placed the volume in her hand, with a scarcely 
perceptible pressure, accompanied with a scarcely audible 
sigh, bowed, and withdrew. 

Laura Elmer’s happy revery was over for that evening. 
A frown corrugated the usual noble calmness of her brow, as, 
standing where he had left her, she conferred with herself : 

“ What can that man mean ? Kindness, perhaps, and only 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


177 


simple kindness, to a friendless girl. It is ungrateful, unjust, 
and absurd to think otherwise, and yet I should be happier 
and more comfortable if Sir Vincent Lester would interest 
nimself much less in my comfort and happiness. For though 
reason can find no positive cause of offence, yet instinct 
teaches me to dread these attentioms. I will for once dis- 
H'gard fallible reason, and be guided by unerring instinct. 
I will obey no more summonses to the library, and since this 
room is not free from intrusion, I will henceforth spend my 
evenings in my own private apartment.” 

So saying, Laura Elmer sat down and opened the volume 
that she had very reluctantly accepted, and only because she 
had no civil pretext for declining it. ' 

In looking over the poem she was less pleased than sur- 
prised to find that those passages which most deeply in- 
terested her own sympathies were the very ones most em- 
phatically marked b}’- the admiration of Sir Vincent Lester. 

“ It is strange and sorrowful to think that a mind like 
Sir Vincent Lester’s, capable of feeling and appreciating the 
true and beautiful in nature and art, should be so thoroughly 
destitute of veneration for the Creator of nature and the 
Inspirer of art,” thought Laura to herself, as she sank into a 
pensive re very. 

M(!anwhile Sir Vincent Lester regained the solitude of his 
usual retreat in the library. He walked up and down the 
flooi in disturbed thought, murmuring : 

“ f have forgotten myself. My hand closed upon hers 
with a convulsive graSp, and my strong emotion broke forth 
in an irrepressible sigh. I have alarmed her, I who meant 
to have approached her only in the gentle guise of friend- 
ship — aye, and never to have gone farther than friendship if 
I could have helped it. With the friendship, confidence, and 
companionship of this large-hearted, high-souled woman, I 
think I could be happy, would she but give me so much. 
I, at forty-five, have never known the love of woman. Lady 
Lester married me for my rank, which she knows how to 
wear, and for my money, which she knows how to spend. 
She never sympathized with any of my tastes and pursuits, 
never cared for the well-being of our own children j never, 
1 1 


178 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


in one word, loved either me or them, being as incapable of 
love as she is of thought. Her brain and heart seem to have 
no other functions than to regulate the -action of her calm, 
nervous system, and the circulation of her cool blood — her 
life no higher object than to be thought the fairest and the 
best dressed woman at the ball or opera. 1 scarcely ever see 
her lad] ship, and when I do 1 have nothing to say to her, 
or, if 1 have, she does not understand me ! If we met often 
we should be dreadful bores to each other, that is certain. 
How different with this beautiful Laura Elmer; for beautiful, 
indeed, she is to me, with her graceful form and fine features I 
I could gaze forever with renewed delight upon that calm, 
queenly brow, those large, lustrous, dark eyes, and pensive 
lips. All day long I devise excuses to see her in the school- 
room, or to summon her here ; and the few transient moments 
that I spend in her society seem worth all the days and 
hours I employ in manoeuvring for them. Well, and what 
are my ‘intentions?’ as the dowagers would say. I know 
not beyond the })resent one of enjoying as much of Miss 
Elmer’s society as I possibly can, leaving the result to fate. 

“Well, what the devil do you want, sirrah ?” 

This last objurgation was addressed to a servant, who puC 
his head in at the door. 

“ If you please. Sir Vincent, my lady’s respects, and sTio 
would like to see you,” replied the man. 

“Come, here is an unprecedented incident; a flat contta- 
diction to all that I have said. Her ladyship actually senda 
for me. What can be in the wind ?” thought Sir Vincent to 
himself, but aloud he merely inquired : 

“ Where is her ladyship ?” 

“In the drawing-room, if you please, sir.” 

“ Very well, go and say that I will be with her ladyship in 
a moment.” 

And wondering much what could be the cause of such an 
unusual summons. Sir Vincent repaired to the drawing-roc m. 

He found Lady Lester its sole occupant. 

As he looked at her he thought, “ Surely there never was 
before a woman so fair and so unattractive.” 

She was, indeed, a beautiful picture, as she sat half reclined 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


179 


npon a sofa of pale blue damask, whose delicate hues threw 
out into greater relief the ample folds of her white brocade 
dress, that, indeed, was scarcely whiter than the rounded and 
tapering arms, the gracefully curved bosom and throat, and 
the finely turned face of the wearer. A wreath of pale blush 
roses crowned her very light hair, and bunches of the same 
flowers looped up the lace fall of her bosom and shoulders, 
and the lace flounces of her skirt. There was a want of color 
in her fair complexion, of brightness in her light blue eyes, 
and of animation in her manner, or, to sum up briefly, a want 
of soul in that body ; which was the reason, perhaps, why 
that fair form had withstood all the encroachments of time, 
for the soul is a great wearer and tearer of the body, and 
Lady Lester being soulless, or nearly so, was still youthful- 
looking at forty-two, and but for the fulness of her form she 
might really have been taken for twenty. She had gone 
through life gently and calmly. And now she reclined upon 
the sofa as motionless as a beautiful statue. There was about 
her none of that feminine restlessness that requires the aid of 
a fan, or a screen, or some such toy, to afford graceful occu- 
pation for the hands and eyes. Lady Lester could set mo- 
tionless for hours, the very picture of perfect grace, in per- 
fect repose. 

She merely lifted her large eyelids on seeing Sir Yincent 
enter. 

“ Well, Clare, you sent for me ; it must have been that I 
might admire your very recherche toilet. You are going out. 
I presume 

“ Yes, I am due at Carleton House this evening ; but 1 
have half an hour to spare, and I wish to speak to you about 
something very particular.” 

“ Well, my dear ?” said the baronet, drawing forward a 
shair and sinking into it. 

“ You are aware, I presume. Sir Yincent, that this great 
Etheridge case, that has been before the House of Lords for 
weeks, is at length decided in favor of the new claimant.” 

“ Yes, I believe so, last week.” 

“Precisely.” 

“ But in what manner does the decision of the great Swin* 


180 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


burne case interest your most serene ladyship V\ inquired 
che baronet, smiling. 

“You shall know,” said Lady Lester, rousing herself a 
little, taking the Morning Pod from a table near, turning to 
the fashionable intelligence, and teading: 

“‘The Duchess of Bercsleigh, and the ladies Wardour, 
have arrived at Beresleigh House. With her grace is the 
young and beautiful Rosamond Baroness Etheridge, of Swin- 
burae, in whose favor the great Etheridge case, that has oc- 
cupied the House of Lords for so many weeks past, has lately 
been decided. At the next royal drawing-room. Lady Ether- 
idge will be presented to their Majesties by the Duchess of 
Beresleigh, whose guest she remains for the season.’” 

“ Well ?” inquired the baronet, looking up inquiringly, as 
his lady finished reading. 

“ Well ! Very well I Do you not perceive the purpose 
of the duchess in all this ?” 

“I confess I do not; the act seems perfectly natural. 
Beresleigh Court, if I recollect aright, is near Swinburne 
Castle ; and what is more natural than that the duchess should 
chaperone this young lady, her neighbor, and with no other 
purpose than kindness to the orphan girl I” 

“ Orphan girl ! — orphan heiress of the ancient barony of 
Swinburne Castle, and of sixty thousand pounds per annum I 
Ha I ha ! such an orphan will not lack friends to pity her 
motherless and fatherless condition, and show all kindness,” 
sneered the lady, with more of feeling than she usually be- 
trayed. 

“ Well, my dear, that is natural also. I only hope that her 
friends may be judicious ones, and that the kindness shown 
may benefit without hurting her ; still, I cannot see how this 
should interest us.” 

“ You cannot ! Well, perhaps your eyes may be opened 
when you shall have heard another little piece of gossip which 
1 shall read to you.” 

And turning to another part of the paper, she read : 

“ ‘ Approaching marriage in. High life. — It is confidently 
reported that the young Duke of B — 1 — h will soon lead to 
the hymenial altar the youthful and lovely lady E — r — e of 
S — nb — n — e.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


181 


** There ! now do you see ?” 

‘‘I see that the paragraph means to say that the Duke af 
Beresleigh is about to marry Lady Etheridge.” 

“Exactly ; and that is just what tlie old duchess intended 
when she invited the wealthy 3"oiing baroness to become hei 
guest,” said Lady Lester, with so much asperity that Sii 
Yincent, raising his eyebrows, inquired, with some surprise : 

“ Well, my dear ; and why should the manoeuvres of the 
duchess in favor of her son discompose you ?” 

“Sir A'incent, I should think you might guess. It is per- 
fectly disgusting to see how that old wretch has pounced 
down upon this young, inexperienced girl, just like a hawk 
upon a dove, and snapped her up for her own ruined spend- 
thrift of a son, before she has had an opportunity of seeing 
the world and choosing for herself. I say it is perfectly dis- 
gusting.” 

“Perhaps it is, if true. But still, what is it to w.s?” 

“ Sir Yincent, we, also, have a son who must make an eligible 
marriage.” 

“ Oh — h — h. I understand you. Lady Etheridge, with 
her vast estates, would have been a very desirable parti for 
Buthven. But this atrocious old ogress of a manoeuvering 
dowager has been beforehand with us,” said the baronet, 
laughing, and then adding, “but never mind, my dear, let 
us hope it is not true ; we have nothing to ground a belief 
upon but a newspaper paragraph, which is the most men- 
dacious thing in existence. It is generally safe to believe 
just the opposite of that which it states.” 

“ That is my only hope ; and it is just possible that I may 
meet the duchess and this young paragon at Carleton House 
to-night ; I have ordered Buthven to attend me thither — and 
here he comes,” said her ladyship, as the door opened, and 
gave admittance to Mr. Buthven Lester. 

“ Success to your diplomacy. I would give the duchess a 
long start arid back your cool, clear head at any odds against 
all her grace’s hot haste,” said the baronet, smiling. 

“And, by the way. Sir Yincent, if you should go out before 
I rise in the morning, I wish you would leave me a check fof 
a thousand pounds ! I must give a party for this young 
baroness.” 


182 


THE BRIDAL EVE. , 

“All, these tickets in the matrimonial lottery cost some- 
thing, I see,” thought Sir Vincent, as he gallantly handed 
his lad}^ to her carriage. 

At Caiieton House, that evening, the beauty, fashion, and 
celebrity of the court and city were assembled to assist at one 
of the most brilliant entertainments that followed the nuptials 
of the Prince of Wales with the amiable and unfortunate 
Princess Caroline of Brunswick. It was a scene of almost 
oriental magnificence, splendor, and luxury. Not the seraglio 
of an eastern sultan, or the sensual paradise of a follower of 
Mohammed, could have presented a larger or more varied 
collection of houries than were gathered together in the royal 
drawing-rooms of Carleton House. Above this crowd of 
brilliant brunettes and delicate blondes, no less than four 
rival queens of beauty contended for the crown. These were 
the Duchesses of Devonshire and Gordon and the two Misses 
Gunning. But these ladies had been for many seasons 
the admired of all admirers ; and though the lustre of their 
bloom had scarcely commenced to fall, the charm of their 
novelty was certainly dimmed. 

Lady Lester made a point of arriving late. The rooms 
were quite full. After having paid her respects to the Prince 
and Princess of Wales, leaning on the arm of her son, she 
made a tour of the rooms, in search of the Duchess of Beres- 
leigh and her party. In vain, for neither the duchess nor the 
Ladies Wardour were anywhere to be seen. Though con- 
stantly nodding, and smiling, and exchanging compliments 
with her fashionable friends, and longing to make inquiries, 
she forbore, from that deep policy that taught her what 
great results sometimes spring from trifles ; for to ask for 
the Duchess of Beresleigh would turn the conversation upon 
her grace and her grace’s beautiful guest, the wealthy young 
baroness, and start — no one could foresee — how many rival 
schemes to entrap the heiress. 

“ I see how it is,” said Lady Lester to herself. “ The 
duchess will not bring her here for two reasons that are now 
very apparent to me : the first is, that this profligate Prince 
of Wales, who is in no degree reformed by his marriage with 
ft woman whom he cannot appreciate, who has besides grown 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


188 

t 

weary of his old flames, must not be permitted to see Lady 
Etheridge until she is secured to the duke ; and the second 
reason is that tlie young baroness is evidently intended to 
make her debxit in society upon the occasion of her first pres- 
entation to their Majesties. Consequently, I cannot issue 
tickets for my party until I know when the next drawing- 
room is to be held.” 

And, wearied with her fruitless promenade. Lady Iiester ^ 
turned into an alcov^e shaded and perfumed with many boughs 
and wreaths of flowers, seated herself within its cool shadows, 
and said : 

“ You may go and leave me here to rest for half an hour, 
Ruthven, and then order the carriage and return for me.” 

The young man departed, nothing loth, ana the lady,indo 
lently fanping fierself, fell into meditation. 

She was soon interrupted by the approach of two persons. 
With the secretiveness and curiosity of her nature, she with- 
drew into the deepest shadows of the alcove, where she was 
quite concealed by the branches of an orange-tree. 

The two persons entered the alcove. The first she recog 
nized as the Prince of Wales, the second as one of his gentle- 
men in waiting, known even then as the confidant of his 
pleasures and vices. 

“You perceive that the duchess has not appeared hero 
this evening with the beauty,” said the j)rince. 

“ No, your Royal llightiess.” 

“ But then the Duchess of Beresleigh never was a habitui: 
of Carleton House. You have seen this new beauty ?” 

“ Yes, your Royal Highness.” 

“ And are her charms as great as they have been repre- 
sented ?” 

“Your Royal Highness maybe assured she is a prize 
worth all the trouble that we shall have to gain her. She is 
about twenty-two years of age, her form is of medium height 
and beautifully proportioned, though not yet so rounded as 
it will be in a few years. Her complexion is as fair as a lily 
and as blooming as a rose. Her features of a delicate Grecian 
cast. Her eyes of a dark, brilliant hue. Her cheeks are 
•OSes, her lips rose-buds. And her hair, of a bright, warm, 


184 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


golden hue, surrounds this beauteous face like a halo. She 
is not only a beauty of the first order, but, more than that, a 
beauty of your Royal Highness’s own exquisite taste,” said 
the minion, with a truculent bow. 

” McMahone, you have succeeded in exciting my interest 
in this fair creature, and now I shall rely on your skill and 
address in procuring an interview with her.” 

“Your Royal Highness knows that I am ever keenly alive 
to your wishes, and active in your service ; and though this 
Hesperian fruit is guarded by a terrible dragon in the shape 
of a duchess, I do not at all despair of plucking it for your 
Royal Highness. ' 

“And remember that a prince’s gratitude waits on your 
success.” 

The parties then left the alcove, and miiigled with the 
company. 

“ Oh, the wretches ! the atrocious wretches !” exclaimed 
Lady Lester, emerging from her concealment, and quite 
aroused from her usual apathy by the discovery of a plot that 
threatened not only the ruin of her own planSy but the total 
destruction of an innocent girl. “ The most heinous wretches ! 
And what a fate is this of the friendless young baroness, 
exposed alike to the matrimonial manoeuvres of an old 
dowager, and the pursuit of a profligate prince ! I must 
find some way of rescuing her from these perils,” concluded 
her ladyship, highly indignant at tlie enormity of others, 
yet in her sweet, human self-deception quite unconscious that 
her own plans in regard^ to the young baroness were quite 
as mercenary as those ascribed to the duchess, if not as dis- 
honorable as those discovered in the prince. 

The return of Ruthven Lester put an end to her soliloquy. 
She took the arm of her son, went and made her conge to ^ 
the unhappy Princess of Wales, and left the palace. 

In the ball of Lester House she encountered Sir A'incent, 
who had just returned from a protracted debate in the House 
of Commons. 

“ Well, has your ladyship inveigled — I beg your pardon 

fascinated this little rustic beauty ?” inquired the baronet. 

“ I have not even seen her. Trust the duchess for that 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 185 

I might have known it. Their party was not at Carleton 
House,” said her ladyship, pettishly. 

“ Very proper ! Carleton House is precisely the last 
place in the kingdom to which I should introduce a young 
beauty,” replied the baronet. . 

“ Oh, it was not altogether an objection to the society to 
be found at Carleton House that caused the duchess to 
absent herself with her charge ; it was, I presume, with the 
intention that the young heiress should make \\qv debut m 
the drawing-room of their Majesties.” 

“ Quite right,” said the baronet, smiling. 

“And now. Sir Vincent, I must wish you good-night and 
*etire,” said her ladyship, with a cool bend of her fair head, 
as she floated past and ascended the stairs to her dressing- 
room, where she found Mademoiselle Jeanette, the minis- 
tering priestess of that temple of vanity, in attendance. 

Lady Lester sank indolently into her dressing-chair, lifted 
her languid eyes* to the mirror before her, and started to see 
the careworn look upon her usually calm face. 

“ I protest a few more hours of such unpleasant excitement 
as I have had this evening will give me quite a middle-aged 
aspect. I really cannot afford, at my age, to make myself 
anxious on Kuthven’s account. He must take his chance 
with others. And yet it would be a great pity to let this rich 
old barony of Swinburne slip out of our reach for the want of 
a little exertion on my part. Well, it is of no use to lose my 
sleep with thinking. The day is long enough for that. 
Jeanette !” 

“ Oui, milady.” 

“ Bring me some of those sedative drops ; make my cham- 
ber quite dark, and remember in the morning to be in attend- 
ance here, to prevent any one making the lea.st noise near my 
door. 1 must sleep for twelve hours, Jeanette.” 

“ Oui, certainement, madame,” replied the obsequious 
femme de chambre, as she assisted her mistress to divest 
herself of the ball dress and4>’t3pare for repose. 


186 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


CHAPTER XV 

THE DUCHESS OF BERESLEIGH. 

And now I see with eyes serene, 

The very pulse of the machine, 

A hein^ breathing thoughtful breath, 

A traveller betwixt life and death ; 

The reason firm, the temperate will ; 

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 

A perfect woman, nobly planned. 

To warn, to comfort, and command; 

And yet a spirit, still and bright. 

With something of an angel light. — Words wort,h. 


The Duchess of Beresleigh was a very different woman 
from that which the jealousy and suspicions of Lady Lester 
had represented her to be. Her title of “ Grace” was no mis- 
nomer. She was one of nature’s as well as of society’s noble- 
women — one whose personal excellence might have redeemed 
her whole ordef from the charge of irrational pride and hard 
selfishness. Born to her high rank, she had nevertheless re- 
garded it as investing her rather with duties and responsi- 
bilities towards her less fortunate fellow-creatures than with 
privileges to scorn or oppress them. She ever, in grateful 
humility, remembered Him who had made her healthful, 
beautiful, intellectual, powerful, good, and great, to differ 
from the sickliest, plainest, simplest, poorest, and feeblest de- 
pendent on her estate. 

On meeting such a one, bowed down with illness, poverty, 
and despair, her thought would often be : 

My spirit might have been sent into that body, and i«- 
vested with those trials and sufferings. Why have I been 
spared and that one afflicted ? I know not ; but I feel that 
the possession of superior advantages brings with it terrible 
responsibilities.” 

And with these th oughts, ^|jad upon these principles, .he 
duchess spent much of her ^le, talents and means in the 
relief and reform of those dependent upon her. Personally 
pr by proxy, she assisted the poor, cured the sick, instructed 
tlie ignorant, and reformed the guilt}^ ^She educated her 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 




187 


sms and daughters in the same high and holy principles that 
governed her own conduct. 

They .had lived mostly in Beresleigh Court, which adjoined 
Swinburne Chase, but the families had never been intimate, 
because the duchess had deeply disapproved the character 
and conduct of the late baron as well as that of the guardian 
he had left over his heiress ; and, in fact, soon after the death 
of the baron, the Duke of Beresleigh had been appointed resi- 
dent minister at one .of the continental courts, where, at the 
end of five years, he died. 

The duchess and her family spent their first year of mourn- 
ing in retirement, on the Continent, and then returned to 
Beresleigh Court. 

It was but a few weeks after their settlement at home that 
Doctor Seymour called upon the duchess, and commended to 
her kind offices the new Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, 
and, in answer to the inquiries of her grace, related the strange 
discovery that had thrown down one young girl from rank 
and wealth to poverty and dependence, and elevated another 
from indigence and obscurity to fortune and power. The 
worthy doctor spoke of both these young persons with the 
highest praise of their conduct under their opposite ordeals of 
'sudden prosperity and sudden adversity. 

The duchess was at once interested in the new claimant of 
her neighborly attentions; and no less so in the high-souled 
woman wjio had so promptly resigned her fortune and posi- 
tion, and so nobly sustained her cruel reverses. 

Her grace promised to call on the new Lady Etheridge, and 
secretly resolved also, as soon as she should go up to town, to 
seek out Laura hdmer. 

She kept her word, and took an early opportunity of visit- 
ing Swinburne Castle. The beauty, goodness and intelli- 
gence of the young baroness soon won the love and esteem 
of the duchess, than whom no woman ever lived better able to 
judge of the characters of those with whom she was brought 
into communion. 

After the interchanging of several visits between the duchess 
and Lady Etheridge, her grace invited the young baroness to 
spend some weeks at Beresleigh Court. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


188 ^ 

Rose aecepted tlie invitation, and passed a month verr 
pleasantly with her new friends. 

It was in the intimacy of daily intercourse that Rosamond 
learned to revere the lofty character of the duchess, and to 
love the amiable dispositions of the young Ladies VVardour. 

But there was another member of the family that interested 
Rosamond scarcely less than did the duchess and her daugh- 
ters ; this was, indeed, the present head of the house. 

George Duke of Beresleigh, was now in the thirty-third 
year of his age. To a very handsome person he united a 
highly cultivated mind and an amiable heart. 

Benevolence towards a friendless young woman, newly 
come into his own rank, and holding a very doubtful footing 
there, first induced him to follow the recommendation of his 
mother, and show some kindly attention to her guest. But 
this course of conduct, commenced from duty, was continued 
from inclination. 

To his surprise and pleasure he found nothing underbreU in 
the manner and nothing vulgar in the mind of this young 
beauty and newly-made baroness ; indeed, every day discov- 
ered new graces in her person and in her spirit; and the duke 
soon found admiration growing into a warmer and more per- 
manent sentiment. 

But at thirty-three men are not so apt to act rashly from 
an impulse of admiration or affection, as they are at ten years 
younger or ten years older than that age ; consecjuently, the 
duke held his inclinations in check, and restricted his atten- 
tions to Rosamond within such limits of intellectual inter- 
communion as should be safe to both. 

Rosamond on her part, began by admiring the son for his 
resemblance, in person and in character, to the mother whom 
she so deeply revered ; next, she found herself taking great 
•pleasure in the society and conversation of the duke, when 
he was present, and in thoughts and memories of him when 
he was absent; then her mind became more occupied with the 
future than with the past. The memory of her false and un- 
worthy love was fading from her heart like the black shadows 
of night. The hope of a higher and holier affection was dawn- 
ing upon her soul like the bright beams of morning. Yet was 
Rosamond surprised and shocked at this change in herself. 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


189 




It is always so with the earnest young hearts. They 
cherish the sorrow of a first disappointment as if it were some 
holy thing ; they will not let it go, until the wise and tender 
mother, Nature, gradually steals away the dark shadow of a 
pjist dream, and substitutes the bright substances of a present 
reality. 

Rosamond seldom or never recurred to the subject of 
Albert Hastings alias William Level, and when she did, it 
was only to wonder how she could have honored him, first, 
with such a degree of love, and secondly, with such a degree 
of hate, when in fact the best and the worst that he deserved 
was simply pity and contempt. 

Still she was surprised and humiliated to find her affections 
going out towards another object. 

“ Is it possible,” she said to herself, “that my nature is so 
light as to change easily ? I will go back to the solitude of 
Swinburne Castle, and take myself seriously to task, and try 
to come to my senses. In truth, it is quite time, since my 
thoughts are running upon one who has never requested me 
so to employ them.” 

And back to Swinburne Castle went the young baroness, 
but not to remain there long. 

The Duchess of Beresleigh, with her family, was going to 
town for the season. She came jover to Swinburne Castle, 
invited Rosamond to be of her party, and would take no 
denial. 

Rosamond, who could refuse the duchess nothing, after a 
feeble resistance, yielded. And accordingly it was arranged 
that Lady Etheridge of Swinburne should accompany them 
to town, and enter society under the auspices of the Duchess 
of Beresleigh. 

The duke preceded the family by two or three weeks, in 
order to take his seat in the House of Lords, and give his 
vote and influence in favor of Rosamond Etheridge, whose 
claim to the Barony of Swinburne was then before the peers. 
There wa^, however, scarcely a shadow of doubt upon the 
minds of any as to the final issue of the case. 

A few days previous to the commencement of the Duchess 
»f Beresleigh’s journey to London, the duke ran down to 


s 


190 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 




Somerset, and suddenly appeared at Beresleigh Court, with 
the news that the ijreat case Iiad been decided in favor of Rosa- 
mond Etheridge. 

The duchess expressed her gratification, and immediatch 
ordered her carriage, and rode over to Swinburne Castle, tG 
convey the joyful intelligence to the young baroness. 

She found Rose in the library, engaged in her studies. 

“ 1 have come to tell you, my dear, that the House of 
Lords have just confirmed your claim to the Barony of Swin- 
burne. The case was decided the night before last, and 
Beresleigh immediately took post horses and set out, and has 
travelled night and day to bring us the intelligence. Let me 
be the first to congratulate you, my dear.” 

Rosamond burst into tears and sobbed aloud, crying : 

“ Oh, Laura ! Laura ! Oh, Laura ! Laura !” 

The duchess looked surprised. 

Rosamond tried to compose herself, and faltered forth : 

“ Oh, madam, do not wonder that I weep so I The fiat 
that confirms my right to a splendor for which I never was 
intended, condemns another and a better woman, who would 
have graced this rank, to a life of poverty and obscurity. Oh, 
Laura I Laura ! how much better you would have become 
this state than I ?” 

“Your emotion shows ^ good heart, my dear. Still, as 
justice is on your own side, and justice should always be 
done, I am very glad that the case has been decided in your 
favor. When we go up to London we will seek out Miss 
Elmer, and do all that we can to soften the hardship of her 
reverses, and show our respect for her noble character,” said 
the duchess, soothingly. 

Rosamond seized her hand, and kissed it fervently, ex- 
claiming : 

“ Oh, madam ! you who have so much power. over other 
minds, you who can make me do just as you please, will you 
not try to make Laura Elmer divide this fortune with me, and 
take the best half as her portion ? I shall never ^be happy 
else.” 

“ My dear, your generous impulses do you credit, though 
they are quite quixotic. Miss Elmer ought not and would 
not accept such a bounty.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


191 


“Bounty ! it is her right, after being educated in the be- 
lief that this barony was hers by inheritance, after growing 
up in habits of luxury and of command, it is unjust that 
she should be hurled down to pov^erty, hardship, and de- 
pendence I” 

“It is hard, but not unjust, my dear; Miss Blmer would 
not consider it so.” 

“ But I contend that she has a right to at least one-half of 
those possessions which for twenty years she considered 
wholly her own.” 

“ I do not think so, my dear ; nor could Miss Elmer, if I 
judge correctly of her character, be brought to see it in the 
light that you do.” 

“ Then what shall I do ? I feel myself to be a mere 
usurper, holding for a transient season a position to which I 
have no real right ! and I am not even permitted to perform 
any act of generosity to distinguish my short day of pros- 
perity, and comfort me with its memory in my day of ad- 
versity.” 

“ How strangely you talk, Rosamond.” 

“ I talk as I feel, your grace I Deep in my heart 1 feel 
that this garish splendor of fortune that surrounds me is as 
transient as the sunshine of a winter’s day ! Would that I 
could do some real good with it while it lasts, to make me re- 
membered kindly, when I fall back into obscurity I” said 
Rose, solemnly. 

“ Your feelings are morbid, dear Rosamond ; they are con- 
sequent upon your sudden rise. A season in town, so dan- 
gerous to most young persons, will be really healthful to 
you ; variety will dissipate your gloomy pre-visions,” said the 
duchess, pleasantly. 

“ Gloomy I They are not gloomy. And indeed they would 
be cheerful, if I could think that, when I sink out of sight, 
dear Laura could take her place again.” 

The duchess arose and kissed her brow, and bade her 
hasten her preparations for their journey to town, and then 
took her leave. 

A beautiful confidence subsisted between the duke and 
duchess, the mother and her only son. 


192 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Thus, when the duchess returned home, she first went into 
her dressing-room to lay off her bonnet and shawl, and then 
repaired to the library, where she was almost sure of finding 
the duke. 

Sinking upon a sofa, and looking at him affectionately, she 
said : 

“ George, I have just returned from carrying to Lady Eth* 
eridge the intelligence of her good fortune. I am more than 
ever pleased with her. Surely prosperity never came to one 
more truly deserving of it, who would wear it more meel^ly 
or use it more worthily.” 

The duke’s eyes beamed. What lover does not delight in 
hearing his loved one praised ? The duchess saw the joy of 
his countenance, and, smiling archly, said : 

“I think, George, you have quite as good an opinion as 
myself, of this young lady.” 

“ Madam, I am so deeply interested in this young lady 
that 1 tremble for the ordeal to which this London season 
will subject — her goodness and my happiness.” 

“Ah ! is it so, George ? I had even judged as much I 
Why, then, do you not secure this prize while it is easily 
within your reach, and before any rival can endanger your 
success ? Why do you not propose to her at once, before we 
go up to town ? I feel very sure that Lady Etheridge is not 
indifferent to you.” 

“ Why I dear madam, I am certain that I should have 
loved this lovely Rosamond, had I met her in the humblest 
society, and become as well acquainted with her heart and 
mind as I am now. Therefore, it is from no doubt of my own 
feelings that I now hesitate.” 

“ Then you need not hesitate from any doubt of /lers. I am 
sure that she likes you well enough to listen to your suit ; so 
you may propose at once if you like, and Lady Etheridge will 
enter the world as your betrothed bride — inaccessible to all 
rival suitors.” 

“ Dear madam, that is just what I cannot in honor do. To 
bind so inexperienced a young creature by a premature en- 
gagement, before she has had an opportunity of seeing the 
world, looks too much like entrapping an heirefes.' No; 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


198 


highly as I admire, deeply as I love, Lady Etheridge, I must 
suppress my feelings, until by a free intercourse with society, 
she shall have an excellent opportunity of comparing her 
present humble admirer with others more deserving of her 
favor. Then only will J lay my suit at the feet of Lady 
Etheridge.” 

The duchess bluslied deeply as she answered : 

“ I see the wisdom as well as the delicacy of your delay, 
Beresleigh ; and I admit that my anxiety to gain you so fair 
and so good a prize blinded me to the proper course of ac. 
tion. I can only say now, that you are perfectly right, and 
I can only hope that heaven may bless your rectitude.” 

With this the mother and son parted to dress for dinner. 

And within a week from this day, the duchess and her 
family, accompanied by Lady Etheridge, set out for London, 
and in due course of time arrived at their town residence, 
Beresleigh House, Belgrave-square. 


CHAPTER XYL 


THE RISING STAR. 


To hide true worth from public view 
Is burying diamonds in their mine ; 

“All is not gold that shines,” ’tis true, 

But all that is gold ought to shine. — Bishop, 


As soon as it was known that the Duchess of Beresleigh, 
with the young Ladies Wardour and the youthful heiress of 
Swinburne, was in town, a shower of cards fell daily at 
Beresleigh House. These her grace duly acknowledged by 
sending or leaving her own card at various residences of the 
callers. 

Many morning visits were also made to the boudoir of the 
duchess, and these her grace received alone, or with her 
daughters. 

12 


194 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Lady Etheridge was ahvays invited. 

Numerous invitations to dinners, evening parties, balls, 
etc., arrived for the ladies of the family ; but all these were 
politely declined, except such as referred to entertainments to 
be given after the first drawing-room of the season. Tn a 
word, the duchess had determined that her beautiful young 
guest should make her first entrance into society at the Royal 
Palace of St. James. With a woman’s zest and a mother’s 
zeal she superintended the preparation of a magnificent court- 
dress for Lady Etheridge. 

The important day arrived. 

Wishing upon this occasion to give her whole attention to 
her young protegee, the duchess resolved not to embarrass 
lierself with all her daughters. Therefore, she decided that 
for once the Ladies Wardour should remain at home. 

As by her rank the Duchess of Beresleigh took precedence 
of all ladies, except the duchesses of royal descent, it was 
proper that her grace should be early at the palace. The 
drawing-room was to be held from twelve to three. 

At half-past eleven the duchess, in her court dress — a white 
satin skirt, a purple velvet train, an ermine mantle, and head- 
dress formed of a circlet of diamonds and a plume of ostrich 
feathers — entered the dressing-room of her protegee, to inspect 
the toilet of the latter. 

“ Beauty, when unadorned,” is not “adorned the most.” 

Rose,||in her simple cottage-dress, had been very, very 
pretty. 

Rose, in her court dress, was dazzlingly beautiful. Though 
a young maiden, yet a baroness in her own right, she had a 
matron’s privilege of wearing brilliant jewels. The family 
diamonds had been re-set for this occasion. 

She wore a robe of white point lace over a white satin 
skirt, and a train of rich white brocade. Her glossy light 
hair was arranged in ringlets, and crowned with a wreath of 
white rose-buds, glittering with the dew of small diamonds. 
Bouquets of the same flowers rested upon her bosom, looped 
up her sleeves, and fastened her train. Circlets of pure 
diamonds invested her fair neck and arms. Boots of white 
•atin, with diamond buckles ; snow-white gloves ; fan of 


THE BRIDAL EYE 


195 


marabout feathers, mounted wdth brilliants, and a handker- 
chief of cobweb texture, completed her costume. Excitement 
had given a more brilliant splendor to her deep blue eyes, 
and a brighter bloom to her roseate cheeks. 

The duchess gazed upon her with delight, commended the 
skill of Mademoiselle Gabrielle, the P'rench dressing-maid, 
and then turning to her protegee, said : 

‘ The carriage is announced, love, and it is quite time we 
were of! ” 

They descended to the hall, went out and entered the 
coach, and in a few minutes were rolling on towards St. 
James’s Palace, where they arrived at twelve o’clock. 

The place was thronged with coronetted carriages, filled 
with splendidly-dressed visitors, waiting their turn to draw 
up before the gates. The coach ol the duchess rolled into its 
place behind that of the Duchess of Leeds, and in due time 
drew up before the palace doors. 

The duchess and her protegee alighted and entered the 
palace. 

Queen Charlotte had brought from her father’s court much 
of the German love of solemn pomp. The outer halls and 
ante-rooms of St. James’s were filled with officers of the 
household, in their gorgeous costumes, and with their badges 
of office. 

Leaning upon the arm of the duchess, Lady Etheridge 
trembled, as many a novice has done before and since, under 
the overwhelming effect of royal state and magnificence. A 
few judicious words from the duchess reassured her, and they 
passed on to the drawing-room, that was already filled with a 
brilliant company. 

At the upper end of the room stood the royal party, con- 
sisting of the king and queen, the Prince and Princess of 
Wales, the Dukes of York and Clarence, and the Princesses 
Augusta and Amelia. The Duchess of Norfolk was just in 
the act of paying her respects to royalty. The Duchess of 
Beresleigh took her. place in the circle, and, whilst waiting 
her turn, quietly indicated to Lady Etheridge the most noted 
persons present. 

First she named the members of the royal party, upon whom 
.Uose gazed with a hushed and awful veneration. 


196 


THE BRIDaL E VE. 


That very ordinary-looking old gentleman, my dear, is 
really the king. That very plain, elderly lady on his left, is 
truly the queen. That handsome, somewhat dissipated-looking 
man, on the left of her majesty, is the Prince of Wales. The 
unhappy-lOoking woman by his side is the newly married 
Caroline of Brunswick, Princess of Wales. The young ladies 
on the right of his majesty are the Princesses Augusta and 
Amelia. The young gentlemen by their sides are the Dukes 
of York and Clarence,” said the duchess, in a voice so low as 
to be quite inaudible to any one except the interlocutor. 

•■‘And those standing behind the royal party inquirea 
Rose, in a subdued key. 

“ They are the lords and ladies in waiting upon their majes- 
ties — Lord Aylesbury, the Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Hold- 
ernesg, Lady Lester, and Colonel Hastings.” 

At the naming of the two last Rose started, and changed 
color so visibly, that the duchess turned and looked at her in 
silent inquiry. 

“ Oh,” said Rose, in a voice scarcely above her breath, 
“ Colonel Hastings was the guardian of Laura Elmer when 
she was supposed to be the heiress of Swinburne, and Lady 
Lester is her present employer and patroness. The sudden 
sight of persons in such interesting relations with my dearest 
friend, rather startled me.” 

“Ah, I see,” replied her grace, drawing the arm of her pro- 
iegee within her own, and moving on towards the royal party. 

And while the room seemed whirling around with Rose, 
the duchess paid her respects to their majesties, and presented 
‘The Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne.” 

Rose courtesied lowly, and blushed deeply, as she bowed 
over and kissed the hand that was offered to her salute. 

Her graceful embarrassment was without the least mawcafs 
honfe, and did not detract from h*er beauty. 

A loud murmur of admiration ran through the royal (urcle 
as the duchess and her beautiful protegee passed on. As 
they receded from the royal party, the subdued whisper of 
admiration which respect for majesty had restrained, grew 
more audible, and exclamations of— 

“ How beautiful 1” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


197 


** How graceful 

“ How elegant 1” 

‘‘ This rising star will eclipse all the court beauties were . 
heard all around. 

' And one baleful whisper reached the ears of the duchess. 

“ Look, how the eyes of his Royal Highness the Prince of 
Wales follow her ! We shall have a new sultana, vice the 
Countess of Jersey, deposed.” 

On hearing thii wicked whisper, the import of which did 
not reach th< intelligence of Rose’s innocent nature, the 
duchess looked around haughtily, and silenced by a glance, 
the unprincipled speaker, whom she recognized as an officer 
of the guard in attendance upon the prince’s person. 

She passed on with her protegee through the crowded 
ante-rooms to the outer hall, and thence to her carriage. 

“ You have made what is called a ‘ great sensation,’ my 
love. Expect to be invited to the court balls, and everywhere 
else as a matter of course. Invitations will pour in upon 
you. And now that you have, as in duty bound, paid you?- 
respects first to royalty, you are at liberty to enter freelj 
into the gayeties of society. Go everywhere you please 
excepting always to Carleton House,” said the duchess, ar. 
they drove homeward. 

“ Carleton House ?” echoed the young baroness, in wonder 

“Yes, my dear, Carleton House, the palace of the Prince 
and Princess of Wales.” 

“ But why not to Carleton House, madam ?” 

“ Because, my dear, I do not think it expedient that you 
should go there.” 

The eyes of Rose opened wide in astonishment. 

“ But why ? If it is the home of the Prince and Princess 
of Wales, and if they deign to invite me ?” 

“ My love, I desire you to trust in my having a good 
reason for interdicting Carleton House to you, without ask- 
ing me to ex^plain what that reason is,” said the duchess very 
gravely. 

Rose blushed rosily, and answered : 

“I place myself in your hands, dear madam, and shall feeJ 
tf'nly too grateful for your kind guidance.” 


198 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


‘'You will not find me a very stern monitress, my dear. 
ButTTear we are at home,” said her grace, as the carriage 
drew up before Beresleigh House. 

;|c 5i« ^ * 5lc 5|« 

A s Appius Claudius gazed upon Virginia, as Sextus gazed 
upon Lucretia, as Satan gazed upon Eve, so gazed the Royal 
Satyr of Wales upon the budding beauties of the young 
baroness. 

Hurrying home from St. James’s, he shut himself up in 
his closet at Carleton House, and summoned the jackal of 
his vicious pleasures, the infamous Colonel McElroy, to his 
presence. 

The officer entering, bowed deeply. 

“ Shut the door, shut the door, and draw near,” said the 
Prince. 

The officer obeyed, and stood before his master. 

“ I have seen her, Mac I I have seen her 1 and by heaven 
I am in love in reality for the first time these ten years I 
Her equal in loveliness 1 have neve seen ! A Hebe, Psyche, 
and Venus, all in one I Mac, I must have that woman 1” 

“ Your Royal Highness must have whatever you like ; 
you are the Prince of Wales ; but — ” 

“ But — well ? But what ?” 

“ She is the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne.” 

“But not, upon that account, free from the weaknesses of 
her sex. Mac, I must have that woman. I do not care 
what it may cost.” 

“ She is the heiress of fifty thousand pounds a year, your 
Royal Highness.” 

“And not to be tempted by any offer of settlements. I am 
aware of that. I was not alluding to pecuniary arts, but to 
the cost of trouble, difficulty, peril to Hfe and character.” 

The jackal averted his head to make a grimace aside. 
“Mac, 1 depend upon your tact, zeal, and discretion. 
That ancient dragon, the duchess of Beresleigh, has nevei 
favored Carleton House with her presence, and she will cer- 
tainly never bring her young beauty either to this place oi 
the houses of any of my friends, where I might possibly 
meet her. What do you think ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


199 


“ I think it extremely probable that your Royal Highness 
reasons rightly. The Duchess Dowager will take no pains ^ 
to introduce her protegee to your Royal Highness or your 
friends. Common rumor says that her grace designs the 
ydung heiress for the future Duchess of Beresleigh.” 

“ What, then, would you advise me to do 

“If your Royal Highness will deign to listen to me, 1 
think I could propose a plan for bringing you into closer 
icquaintance with this young beauty.” 

“ Very well. Let us hear what your plan is. Come this 
IV ay.” 

And the conspirators retired to hatch their diabolical plot. 

There were two other individuals present at the royal 
drawing-room, who witnessed, with great uneasiness, the 
sensation created by the presentation of the beautiful young 
baroness — these were Colonel Hastings and Mr. Hastings. 

As soon as they could withdraw they adjourned to a 
neighboring coffee-house, and, calling for a private room, sat 
down to discuss the event. 

Mr. Hastings opened the conversation by exclaiming, in a 
vehement manner : 

“T love her more than ever ! It is not her rank and 
splendor only, though that is much ; it is her exquisite per- 
sonal loveliness ! I loved her even as a cottage-girl, in 
despite of all my jiride ! And now that I see this rare jewel 
in its proper setting, now that I see her surrounded with 
pomp and splendor, the admired of all eyes, the desired of all 
hearts, I love her with a passion of which I scarcely be- 
lieved myself capable. I must have her or go mad !” 

“ Well, you i^hall have her, if you will only be patient,” 
replied the colonel, coolly. 

“Patient, sir! The House of Lords has confirmed her 
claim to the great Swinburne Barony ! She has been pre- 
>ented at court and received with distinguished honor I She 
is not onlv the wealthiest heiress, but the most beautiful girl 
that has appeared in society for many seasons I She is the 
favorite of the Duchess of Beresleigh, who, of course, wants 
her and her fortune for the young duke. She will have 
many suitors ! She vvdll be followed, flattered, favored in> 


200 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


every possible way, and, before the season is over, sbe will 
be affianced to the Duke of Beresleigh !” 

“And, if she were affianced to a royal duke, I have that 
/•secret which will break the marriage off,^’ said the colonel, 
with the same calmness. 

“You say that you have this power, sir, and I am con 
strained to believe you. Why, then, do you not use it at 
once ? There is an old proverb to the effect that ‘ delays are 
dangerous.’ In this case, with so many rival claimants of 
her favor, I think delay is doubly dangerous.” 

“ True, in some respects. Yet you have also heard, that 
if delays are dangerous, precipitation is often fatal. And it 
would be so in this case, for two reasons. First, she has not 
had time yet to soften in her feelings of resentment towards 
you. Secondly, she has not had time either, to become so 
used to the pomp and splendor of her new rank as to make 
it a matter of habit and necessity to her. If now I were to 
attempt to use the power this secret gives me over her, she 
would defy me, and sooner than marry you with her present 
feeling sbe would resign her rank. No, my boy I We must 
wait until time has softened her anger against you, and con- 
firmed her love of wealth and position. In a word, we must 
wait until the world has educated her.” 

“And how long will that be ?” exclaimed the young man, 
ironically. 

“ Not many months, my dear boy. And, in the meantime, 
if there should be a serious probability of her marriage, I 
shall immediately seek an interview with her, and, as I said 
before, even if the bridegroom elect were a royal duke, I 
would break the marriage off.” 

“ I must leave it in your hands, sir,” replied Mr. Hastings, 
and the conversation ended. 

* * * 5f: * 

There was still a third party, whose peace was disturbed 
by the universal homage paid to the beautiful heiress This 
was Lady Lester, who, upon her return home, shut herself 
up in her boudoir to reflect. 

“This young baroness has made a decided impression 
UiFhven will have many rivals, and he has not l>eeu intr-fl 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


201 


dnced to her yet. I must lose no time in his service. To- 
morrow I will call at Beresleigh House myself, and leave my 
card, together with an invitation to an evening party, for — ■ 
let nW see — the 2Gth — she can have no engagements so far 
in advance as that. Ruthven must be introduced to her. 
Society will throw them frequently into each other’s com 
pany, and Ruthven’s very handsome person and fascinating 
address must do the rest.” 

And so saying, Lady Lester rang for her maid, to divest 
her of the heavy court-dress, and bring her a cup of tea. 

Meantime, what effect had the events of the day upon the 
beautiful and admired subject of all this intoxicating homage, 
and all the.se plots and counterplots ? 

We shall see. 

On her return home. Rose threw herself into her dressing- 
chair, and placed herself in the hands of her maid to be dis- 
robed. While she sat there, she fell into deep thought, say- 
ing to herself — 

“ They tell me that I have made a great sensation, even 
upon royalty ; that I have achieved a great social triumph 
by simply appearing at the drawing-room of her majesty. 
They call me the star of the ascendant in the empyrean of 
fashion; and even if this is so, what is it all to me ‘so long as 
Mordecai, the Jew, sits at the king’s gate ?’ What is it to 
me if all the world worships this poor beauty set in a golden 
frame, since he has no kind word for Rose ? I was happier 
in the country when my«claim to the barony was unsettled, 
and my fortunes uncertain, for then he was good to me ; and 
now, alas ! since my claim has been confirmed, and we have 
come up to town, he never notices me by any attention be- 
yond what is required by etiquette. I wonder if J have dis- 
pleasec him, or if he has taken a dislike to me ? I must not 
even try to find out. Oh, Tam very unhappy !” 

And here the adored beauty, the worshipped heiress, the 
triumphant debutante into court circles, of whom the whole 
world of fashion was talking with admiration or with envy, 
dropped her face into her hands and wept passionately. 

Mademoiselle Gabrielle, in alarm, brought Hungary water 


202 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


aromatic vinegar, sal ammonia, and everything else she could 
think of as restoratives, and declared, since she could see no 
other cause for tears, that the fatigue and excitement of the 
day had been too much for “ miladie.” Rose did not contra^ 
diet her, but composed and recovered herself sufficiently to 
present a cheerful face at the lunch table, where she had to 
receive the congratulations of the Ladies Wardour ui)on what 
they called her great social triumph. 

Rose had spoken the truth to herself. Since the confirma- 
tion of her claim to the Barony of Swinburne, and their 
arrival in London, the young Duke of Beresleigh had avoided 
the society of the beautiful young heiress as much as^ was 
consistent with the courtesj^due to his mother’s guest. Lov- 
ing her with an affection as pure and disinterested as it was 
ardent and unchangeable, he wished to leave her free to form 
an extensive acquaintance with the world of society before 
becoming a competitor for her hand, so that, finally, if she 
should accept his hand, she would do so in the full conscious- 
ness of his comparative merits, and he would have the happi- 
ness of knowing her decision to be that' of an unbiassed judg- 
ment as well as of an unwavering heart. 

But how was poor Rose to know his generous thoughts and 
motives, when his distant courtesy sent her weeping to her 
rcom that day of her great triumph ! 

The next morning the Duchess of Beresleigh and the Ladies 
Wardour, together with Lady Etheridge, were lingering over 
a late breakfast table, and examining the notes, letters, and 
cards that had been left at the house. There were many fresh 
ones, and among them was the card of Lady Lester, accom- 
panied by a ticket of invitation to an evening party to be given 
at Lester House on that day fortnight. 

“We must return Lady Lester’s card and accept the invita- 
tion to her party. She is one of the leaders of fashion here,” 
said the duchess. 

“ And oh, I wish so much to see my dear Miss Elmer, 
Oh, my dear madam, let us go to-day,” said Rose, eagerly. 

“ Certably ; we will call at Lester House to-day if you 
please, my dear, but you will scarcely be able to see youi 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 203 

friend unless you make a special visit to herself, and see her 
in her own apartments. Governesses do not usually receive 
their friends in their employer’s drawing-room,” said the 
duchess. 

But if we call upon Lady Lester and then ask for Miss 
E'mer ?” 

No doubt in that case she would be sent for to come dowiii 
but I ask you if you think that would be agreeable either to 
Miss Elmer or yourself? Would you not much rather your 
first reunion should be in private?” 

“Yes, oh, yes.” 

“ Then to-day, as it is late, we will call on Lady Lester, 
and in a few days you will go early in the morning to see 
your friend MiSs Elmer. You must invite her here, and have 
her as often as you like.” 

“ Oh, thank you, madam,” said Rose, warml3^ 

The carriage was ordered, and the. duchess, the Lady 
Katherine Wardour, and Lady Etheridge withdrew to dress. 

In half an hour they were on their way to Lester House, 
where in about twenty *minutes they drew up and sent in their 
cards. 

Lady Lester of course was at home to the Duchess of 
Beresleigh and her party. They were immediately shown up 
into the drawing-room, where they found her in an elegant 
morning neglige of white India muslin, trimmed with silver, 
reclining on a sofa. 

She arose and floated gracefully on to receive the duchess 
and the younger ladies, all of whom she greeted with much 
exigence. 

When they were all seated, she contrived to place herself 
next to the young baroness, to whom she turned with a vivid 
smile, and said — 

“ I was at your presentation yesterday, my dear Lady 
Etheridge, and I saw the sensation that was created. Per- 
mit me to congratulate — not yon, my dear, but society for its 
charming acquisition in youi-self.” 

The young baroness bowed at this fine speech, while tho 
rosy cloud rolled up over her fair neck and face. 

She had not lost her lovely country habit of blushing ct a 
coinpliment. 


204 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


The conversation turned upon the incidents of the late 
royal drawing-room, the court circle, the Prince and Princess 
of Wales, the opposing cabals of St. James’s Palace and 
CarlctoQ House, and then diverged to the new political 
literary, and fashionable stars that had arisen, or were about 
to arise, in the social empyrean. 

When the various political planets had been discussed, 
Lady Lester suddenly turned to the duchess, and inquired— 

“ Oh, by the way, can your grace, who used always to be 
the first to introduce any new literary luminary to the world 
of society, tell us the author of the new poem about which 
every one is raving ?” 

“No; I cannot. I was about to ask the question of you 
who have been in town so much longer than myself,” answered 
the duchess. 

“ Ah I then nobody knows. It is reported, however, that 
the author is a lady who lives somewhere in the West-end. 
Your grace has read the poem, however?” 

“ Yes ; and admired it very much. It is wonderfully true 
and beautiful.” • 

“ jfnd the author? Do you think it could have been writ- 
ten by a lady ?” 

“ It is evidently the work of some clear-visioned, large- 
souled woman, one who has loved deeply, suffered greatly, 
and thought strongly; one who has come forth from some 
great life-struggle, strengthened — one who has issued from 
some fiery furnace of sorrow, purified. I would give’ much 
to know her,” said the duchess. 

“ It is rumored that the first edition of the poem is already 
exhausted, and that another is about to be issued, with the 
name of the author. How anxiously it will be expected !” 

“ She will be a star of the first magnitude whenever she 
chooses to shine forth from her cloud of incognito,'*^ said the 
duchess. 

“And of course your grace’s drawing-room will be the 
first sphere she will illuminate,” said Lady Lester, following 
up the metaphor. 

“ I shall certainly seek her out when I know whom to seek, 
or where to seek her.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


205 


“Your grace secures every new star of genius — or of 
beauty f said Lady Lester, turning with a bow to the young 
baroness. 

“Nay, not cucry new star; there must be some personal 
excellence higher than either beauty or genius to recommend 
an aspirant to my favor. This lady in question, I am sure, 
fiom her writings, possesses the excellences of which I speak. 
1 shall be happy to discover her,” said the duchess, rising 
with a smile to take her leave. 

The young baroness followed her example. 

They made their adieus, entered the carriage, and returned 
to Leresleigh House. 

There a surprise awaited them. 

While the duchess, the Ladies Wardour, and Lady Ether- 
idge were seated at lunch in the morning-room of her grace, 
a footman entered, and laid before the young baroness a 
letter, sealed with the royal crest. 

“Who brought that, Barnes?” inquired the duchess, look- 
ing suspiciously at the missive. 

“A messenger in the royal livery, your grace.” 

“ Does he wait ?” 

“ No, your grace ; he said no answer was required.” 

“You may go.” 

“ Now, Rose, my love, open it, and let us know what it is 
all about,” said the duchess, using a tone of gentle authority, 
which, however, upon any other occasion, she would not have 
ventured upon. 

Rose, who had been turning the letter curiously in her 
hands, now broke the seal and read it, and as she read, the 
rose clouds rolled up over her fair bosom, neck, and face. 

“What is it, my dear ?” inquired the duchess. 

“It is,” said Rose, hesitatingly, and blushing yet more 
deeply, “a letter appointing me one of the ladies-in-waiting 
upon Ler Royal Highness the Princess of Wales, and com- 
manding me to rep. ir tc 4 Carleton House, where apartments 
w'ill be ready for my reception.” 

The duchess could scarcely restrain an outburst of indig- 
nation. 

“ Am I obliged to go ? Is one compelled to obey a royal 
mandate of th^ sort ?” inquired Rose, in dismay. 


20b 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“Heaven forbid! No, my love. On the contrary, you 
are obliged, by every consideration of self-respect, honor; and 
delicacy, to decline the ai)pointinent. You cannot become 
the associate of Lady Jersey, and others of the Princess’s 
houseliold,” said the duchess, with a crimson spot glowing 
upon her forehead, a sign with her of almost irrepressible 
anger. 

*' But will not the Princess of Wales and the good Queen 
(Jjarlotte be very angry with me for the presumption and 
ingratitude of declining such a mark of royal favor?” 

The duchess laughed scornfully, and answered : 

“ The Queen and Princess of Wales do not agree better than 
most other mothers and daughters-in-law ; but, trust me in 
this matter, they will perfectly harmonize in their approval 
of your discretion in declining this honor. And as for the 
Queen, I have no doubt that if she hears of your refusal of 
the post, she will indenmify you by offering you a position 
near her own royal person. And now, my love, it is neces- 
sary that you answer this immediately. Come into the 
library and I will direct you as to the proper form and word- 
ing of your letter of declension,” said the duchess, rising 
from the table and leading the way. 

And accordingly that afternoon a messenger was despatched 
to Carleton House, bearing a note with Lady Etheridge’s 
respectful submission to the Prince and Princess of Wales, 
entreating their permission to decline an honor so far above 
her merits, and begging leave ''to remain their Royal High- 
nesses’ most grateful and humble servant, etc., etc., etc. 

The very same day brought invitations from the Duchesses 
of Devonshire, Gordon and Cumberland to various fetes, to 
be given by their graces in the course of the next fortnight ; 
to all of which were returned polite excuses for non-acceptance. 

“ 1 am in your hands, dear madam,” said Rose to the 
Duchess of Reresleigh, “ and will accept and decline invita- 
tions just as you advise. But oh I I do long to go and see 
my dear Miss Elmer.” 

“ You can go to-morrow, my dear, if you like, and upon 
reflection, I advise you to go about two o’clock, which will 
probably be the hour of the mid-day recess, when she will be 
at leisure,” replied her grace. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


207 


Then I will go to-morrow, for, oh, madam, 1 feel towards 
that high-souled lady as though she were a dethroned queen, 
and 1 look upon myself as a miserable usurper, whom the 
mob, in some transient ascendency over rightful authority, 
have raised to her throne. 1 know this fleeting glory of mine 
cannot last ! ‘ The queen shall enjoy her own again,’ and I 

— where shall I be ? lost and forgotten in my native obscurity I 
But little shall I care so that the right triumphs I” 

“ My dear, I can scarcely understand your deeply-rooted 
distrust of your present prosperity. An affair decided by the 
House of Lords must be settled forever. But. even if it were 
possible — though it is not — that such a reverse should over- 
take you, do not believe that you would be either lost or for- 
gotten. Your personal excellences have won friends that 
must be true to you through good and evil fortune. But all 
this is idle talk. Your position is as firmly established as 
that of any' peeress in these realms,” said the duchess, with 
an amused smile. ^ 

The next day, when Colonel McElroy solicited a private 
audience of the Prince of Wales, and laid before his royal 
highness the letter of Lady Etheridge, respectfully declining 
the post that had been offered to her, the Prince fell into a 
most unprincely fit of profanity, a luxury in which he only 
indulged in the presence of such familiars as Oolf>nel McElroy. 

“And this, then, Mac., is the result of your precious plan I 
You would suggest nothing more original than that I should 
KKike the beauty a lady-in-waiting uj)on the Princess, with 
apartments in the palace — a ruse, sir, as old as the days of 
the patriarchs, when Hagar, the beloved of Abraham, was^the 
waiting-maid of his wife Sarah. I am beginning to lose my 
esteem for you. It was your best advice that I should offer 
Lady Etheridge this appointment. I did offer it to her. I 
might have known that the old Hecate of Beresleigh would 
counsel her to decline it. And she has declined it. What 
has your wisdom to say now ?” said the Prince, ironically. 

“Your Royal Highness will be so gracious as to recall the 
fact that I suggested that a meeting with this beauty might 
be effected at some of ihe fetes given by your friends. 1’ho 
Duchess of Cumberland, for instance.” 


208 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 

“Pshaw! pshaw f psha^w’ exclaimed the Prince, im- 
patiently. “ The Duchesses^ of Cumberland, Gordon and 
Devonshire hav.e invited this dainty beauty to their parties, 
and she has sent excuses to them all I If you cannot suggest 
some plan more likely to succeed than the foregoing, you had 
better retire into private life.” 

“ If your Royal Highness will pardon the mo.st zealous and 
devoted of your servants, I have a plan,” said the jackal. 

“Ah, you have! then let us hear it without much preiace.” 

“It is a plan that cannot fail to bring about an interview 
between your Royal Highness and this young beauty.” 

“ Then let us hear it, by all means. Why this hesitation 
and mystery ?” 

“It is a plan that, with submission to your Royal High- 
ness, should be discussed with closed doors, as the courts 
say.” 

“ Then close the doors, and open your communication at 
once,” said the Prince. 

The jackal obeyed, and then returned to his master to 
divulge his second plot for getting the beautiful and innocent 
young baroness into the Prince’s power. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MORE MYSTERIES. 


B«tweea two worlds life hovers like a star, 

’Twixt night and rnoru, upon the liorizon’s verge. 

How liUle do we know that which we are, 

How less that which we may be. The eternal surge 
Oftiuie and tide rolls on, and bears aloft 
Our bubbles. As the old burst, new emerge, 

Lashed from the foam of ages, while the graves 
Of empires heave, but like some passing waves. — Byron. 


It was Easter Monday, and the young ladies had a holiday. 
Tjaura Elmer sat alone in the deserted school-room, reading 
with much interest a review of the new poem, when Miss 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 209 

Lester suddenly burst in, witbT^a gayly bound volume in her 
hand, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, Miss Elmer, here is the ‘Album of Beauty,’ and the 
frontispiece is a [)ortrait of that beautiful Baroness Etheridge, 
whom every one so much admires. Only look at her. What 
a lovely, lovely face ! And they do say she was brought up 
in a cottage, like Lady Burleigh or the shephei’d lord — you 
recollect. But, oh, do look. What a lovely, lovely face !” 

And the eager child spread open the folio before her 
governess. 

“ Thank 3’'Ou, dear,” said Miss Elmer, letting her languid 
eyes fall upon the picture. 

“ And now, Miss Elmer, I thought that would amuse you 
while we are gone to Richmond with papa. Good-bye, dear 
Miss Elmer.” 

And, kissing her hand, the volatile creature flew out of the 
room. 

Laura Elmer looked down upon the steel engraving that 
formed the frontispiece of the “Album of Beauty.” 

Yes, it was the same lovely face, the same sweet, serious 
3^oung face, veiled b}^ the same fall of fair ringlets. The atti- 
tude was pensive, the graceful head bowed like a fair lil\’, and 
resting upon the taper hand. Her costume was rich and gor- 
geous, as became her rank ; but the expression of her softly- 
closed lips and thoughtful e^'es seemed to repeat the words, 
“ I know that this pageantiy is passing away, I am but a 
poor ])layer -peeress who must fret her hour upon the stage 
until the farce is over, and then be seen no more.” 

No such thought crossed tlie mind of Laura Elmer as she 
gazed upon the fair portrait. She onh' asked herself; 

“Shall the world win this sweet creature? Alas, she 
must be more than woman, more than human, if this sudden 
elevation, this dazzling success, this bewildering adulation, 
does not utterly spoil her. She has been in town now many 
weeks, and has not called to see me. Has she already for- 
gotten her fervent expressions of friendship ?” 

Miss Elmer was interrupted bj" a rap at the door. 

“ Come in,” she §aid, closing and laying aside the book. 

Good-morning, Miss Elmer. I beg you will pardon my 
13 


210 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


intrusion, and send me oflf if it is unseasonable,” said Mr. 
Oassinove, entering. 

“I am quite at leisure. Pray sit down,” replied Laura, 
smiling to observe that he also had in his hand a book that 
he Mas about to offer to her notice. 

He bowed, and took the proffered seat, saying : 

“ I have but lately become acquainted with the rare merit 
of a poem about which the whole literary world has been 
talking and writing for the last two months. You have not 
read it. 1 hope that you will permit me to recommend a 
work which, to a mind like yours, will richly repay perusal.” 

And he laid the volume before her. 

Laura Elmer blushed deeply as she took it up. 

‘‘I am much indebted to you for your kindness, Mr. Cassi- 
nove. I have been reading this morning what I consider to 
be the best review that has yet been written upon this poem. 
As you like the poem, perhaps you would also like the re- 
view,” she said, tendering the last number of the Gentle 
man's Magazine. 

It was now Cassinove’s turn to blush deeply — so deeply 
that, as he met the eyes of Laura Elmer, mutual conscious- 
ness flashed from eye to eye, from heart to heart, from soul to 
soul, suddenly revealing the truth. 

“You are the reviewer,” said the glance of Laura. 

“And you the poet,” said that of Oassinove. 

The heart of the young man beat quickly. His color went 
and came. 

“ I might have known it I I might have known it I That 
glorious poem is but another phase of the poet woman,” he 
thought, and what next he might have said or done is uncer- 
tain, for at that instant a door opened, and a servant an- 
nounced — 

“ Lady Etheridge !” 

And the next instant Rose was in the arms of Laura. 

Oassinove, with a bow, had quietly retreated from the room. 

“ I did not send up my name in advance, dear Miss Elmer, 
because I wished so much to see you, whether you would or 
no. Do you forgive me ?” inquired Rose, bashfully. 

“ Most welcome intruder, yes,” replied Laura, installing her 
Tisitor in the most comfortable chair 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


211 


Rose seated herself, glanced at the queenly form of Laura 
Elmer, arrayed in its simple dress of black serge, and the 
royal brow with its plain bands of black hair ; then at her 
surroundings, the school-room, with its signs of mental drudg- 
ery, and, last of all, at her own magnificent array, and 
sighed deeply 

It is a long, tedious play, is it not, Miss Elmer 

“ What play, my dear 

“This comedy of ‘The Changeling,Mn which they make 
poor Rose take the part of the baroness,” she said. 

“ My dear, how incredulous you are of your good fortune. 
The history of the past twenty years was indeed a play, as 
far as you and I were concerned. The history of the present 
is a reality. Believe it, accept it, and improve it.” 

Rose shook her head sadly, and, pressing her hand upon 
her bosom, said — 

“Ah, Miss Elmer ! deep in my heart here I feel how unreal 
is all I see around me. Yes, Miss Elmer, sooner or later the 
poor little sparrow will be plucked of her bird-of-paradise 
plumage, and it will be well if she is not left to shiver and 
die of cold.” 

“ This is morbid, very morbid, my dear. You really must 
banish such thoughts,” said Laura, so gravely that Rose sud- 
denly laughed, and said — 

“ But I did not come here to be lectured for croaking. Miss 
Elmer. I came to see you, to talk over all that has passed 
since we met, and especially to bring you this book.” 

And, to the ludicrous astonishment of Laura Elmer, Rose 
produced the third copy of that poem that had been offered 
to her. 

“I thought. Miss Elmer, that you had not read it. You 
really should not live another day without having an oppor- 
tunity of doing so, and, therefore, I stopped at Taylor’s and 
purchased this copy on my way hither. But perhaps you 
have already perused it ?” 

“ I have.” 

“And oh, I am sure you must admire it. It is so much like 
yourself, that you must admire it,” said .Rose, with en- 
thusiasm. 


212 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ That would be a very egotistical reason for approving it,*’ 
said Laura. 

“ Oh, but really, since you have read it, what do you think 
of it 

“ It is a very faulty piece of work,” said Laura. 

“Faulty,” exclaimed Rose, opening her blue eyes wide in 
astonishment, and then, after gazing at Laura for the space 
of a minute, she added, “ well, perhaps in your eyes it is 
faulty, Miss Elmer. You are, indeed, so superior to other 
people, that a work which they pronounce the perfection of 
wisdom, love and beauty, may appear to your purer vision 
very imperfect.” 

“Have you learned at court to flatter. Rose?” said Miss 
Elmer, flushing. 

“ No, nor forgot to honor where honor is due !” replied 
Rose, significantly. “ But seriously, Miss Elmer, all the 
world of fashion is mad to know who this brilliant genius is. 
The Duchess of Beresleigh is the most impatient of all. She 
claims the privilege, by old custom, of being the first to pre- 
sent to the world any new celebrity. She says the light 
should not be ‘ hidden under a bushel, but be set upon a golden 
candlestick to give light to all that are in the house.’ She 
says that if ‘all is not gold that glittei’S, all that is gold ought 
to glitter.’ In other words, she thinks that the whole of a 
poet is public property, not only his works, but his presence 
and conversation belongs of right to the world.” 

“And do you believe so ?” inquired Laura. 

“ Y^es, Miss Elmer. We do not belong to ourselves, and should 
not bury our talent, whatever it may be, especially if it be the 
power of pleasing. Now, if the presence of this unknown 
poet would make hundreds of other people happy, he should 
not conceal himself,” said Rose, in a decisive manner. 

“ Do you act upon that principle, fair Rose, and appear 
wherever you are desired ?” 

Rose blushed vividly, and answered — 

“ I am in leading strings, and go only where I am drawn 
by the duchess.” 

“And her grace, of course, drew you to see your friend to- 
day ?” said Laura, archly. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


213 


** Nay, but she sent me, which is morally the same thing ; 
and that reminds me to tell you that the duchess would have 
accompanied me to see you to-day, only that she very rightly 
judged that you and myself must have much to talk of, and 
so she gave me her card for you, saying that she would be 
very happy to see you ” 

“ Or any other friend of Lady Etheridge. That is what it 
means, my dear.” 

“ The duchess always means just what she says, no more 
nor less,” said Rose. 

“As you will : I am not querulous, dear. I will call to 
see you very soon,” replied Laura. 

They then fell into a familiar conversation, talking of much 
that had passed since they last met, which to relate would 
only be to repeat events with which the reader is already ac- 
quainted. 

And Rose terminated her visit — the happiest visit, she de- 
clared, that she had made since coming to town. 

“ There are gleams of sunlight on the shadiest path,” said 
Laura Elmer, when she was left alone ; and she fell into a 
pleasant remrie that lasted until the servant came to announce 
the carriage for the afternoon drive. 

She then quickly put on her bonnet and mantle, and went 
down to the front hall, where she was met by Sir Yincent and 
Mrs. Ravenscroft. 

Laura’s position towards Mrs. Ravenscroft was growing 
daily more embarrassing. Since the day of that unhappy 
young lady’s rencounter with the stranger in the park, her 
conduct had been marked by a singular anxiety and vigilance. 
The present occasion was no exception to the rule, but was 
destined very much to complicate the duties and perplex the 
mind of Laura Elmer. The carriage door had scarcely closed 
upon them, when Helen Ravenscroft, keeping her veil down, 
peered anxiously through every window in turn. As the 
carriage rolled on, this course of watchfulness was still pur- 
sued, until at length, just as they w^ere about to enter the 
park, the restless woman suddenly became still and contented. 

.Laura Elmer looked out, and saw the cause of this sudden 
change. The person whose appearance she had evidently 


214 


THE BRIDAL EYE. 


watched and hoped for was at hand — that is to saj, the light- 
haired man was riding in attendance upon the carriage, 

Laura Elmer’s face flushed with indignation. She suddenly 
pulled the check-string, and ordered the coachman to turn 
and drive back to the house ; but the man, not fully compre- 
hending the unexpected order, only- drew up, and, touching 
his hat, waited for further directions. 

While Miss Elmer was hurriedly repeating her orders from 
one window, Helen Ravenscroft suddenly let down the other, 
and snatching a letter from her bosom, threw it out at the 
feet of the rider, who, leaping from his horse, picked it up, 
and then springing into his saddle, rode rapidly away. Helen 
dropped back into her seat, and burst into a horrible laugh. 

“In the name of heaven, what have you done?” cried 
Laura Elmer, turning around in dismay. 

“What Hades cannot undo ! You may betray me now; 
tell all you know. It will be too late ! too late !” replied 
Mrs. Ravenscroft, with a wild laugh. 

“ Most unhappy girl, I fear, indeed, that you have betrayed 
yourself I very much regret having concealed your first ren- 
counter with that evil man from Sir Vincent Lester. And I 
warn you that I feel it my duty to yourself and your family, 
to inform him of that which I have witnessed,” said Miss 
Elmer, gravely. 

“ I free you to do so, but it will be in vain 1 in vain I All 
Hades cannot undo what I have done to-day,” said Helen, in 
exultation. 

The carriage rolled rapidly back to Grosvenor-square. 
When they arrived they were met as usual in the hall by Sir 
Vincent Lester, who greeted them with much surprise, ex- 
claiming : 

“ You are back early. No one is ill, I hope ?” 

“No, Sir Vincent; but as soon as you have disposed of 
your unhappy charge, I must have an interview with you,” 
said Miss Elmer, in a peremptory manner. 

“ Certainly, Miss Elmer. James, show Miss Elmer into 
the library ; I will attend upon you there immediately. Miss 
Elmer,” said the baronet, leading away Mrs. Ravenscroft, 
who, in passing, turned upon the governess a look of wild 
def ance and triumph. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


215 


Laura Elmer went into the library, and threw herself into 
an easy-chair to await the coming of the baronet, who now 
entered 

lie advanced smiling, and saying: 

“ Miss Elmer, 1 feel myself much flattered by this mark of 
confidence. It is an honor ” 

‘A truce to compliments, if you please, Sir Vincent. For- 
give my interruption, but I have that to communicate which 
may make you grave enough,” said Laura Elmer, very 
seriously. 

The baronet bowed, took a scat opposite to her, and became 
politely attentive. 

“What I have to communicate. Sir Vincent, relates to the 
unhappy young lady from whom we have just parted.” 

“ Helen Ravenscroft I” exclaimed the baronet, in alarm. 
“ She has told you ” 

“ She has told me nothing. Sir Vincent. She has confided 
in me no more than you have.” 

The baronet wiped his brow, and looked inexpressibly re- 
lieved. 

“ I should begin. Sir Vincent, by expressing the deep 
regret I feel at not having informed you of an incident that 
occurred upon the very first occasion of my riding out with 
Mrs. Ravenscroft.” The baronet lent a polite, but by no 
means anxious attention to her words so far. 

Laura felt justified in w^atching his countenance to observe 
the effect of her next words. And Sir Vincent Lester pos- 
sessed one of those warm, dark, rich, southern faces that are 
true mediums for every passing emotion of the soul. 

“ The first occasion upon which I drove out with Mrs. 
Rav^enscroft, we observed that the carriage was followed by a 
man on horseback, and supposing the horseman might be 
only pursuing his own course, which might well happen to lie 
in the same direction as ours, 1 felt no misgivings as to his 
purposes.” 

Here Laura raised her eyes to Sir Vincent Lester's ‘‘ace. 
His chin was resting on his hand, his lips were firmly com- 
pressed, his brows knit, and his eyes fixed upon the speaker. 

** But this man followed us quite through the park until 


216 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


the carriage stopped, when he also drew up, at some little 
distance, opnosite the window.” 

“ This man — what was he like ?” asked the baronet, in a 
deep, quick, gasping voice, as of one who held himself under 
some violent restraint. 

“A handsome and gentlemanly-looking person^ who man- 
aged his horse with grace and skill. That is the first im- 
pression he made upon. me. Upon nearer view, a fair-com- 
plexioned man, with light hair, gentle blue eyes, full, serious 
lips, and a frank, kindly, genial expression of countenance.” 

“ Go on I go on I What more ?” 

“ This man remained un overed and reined in his horse 
until his appearance attracted the attention of Mrs. Ravens- 
croft, who, quick as lightning, threw down the window, and 
stretched forth her arms, crying, in a piercing voice, ‘ Ray- 
burne ! Rayburne !’ and would have broken from the carriage 
had I not used gentle coercion to force her back to her seat 
where, overcome by the violence of her emotions, she fainted. 
The man, apparently satisfied with having shown himself to 
her, replaced his hat upon his head, and rode away.” 

“And — Helen I What of her ? Go on ! pray go on I” 

“Mrs. Ravenscroft recovered her consciousness, and with- 
out giving me any explanation of the scene that had occurred, 
besought me to be silent concerning it. I promised to be 
so, unless I should deem it essential to her happiness and 
welfare to divulge all that I witnessed. An incident that 
occurred to-day has made it incumbent upon me to give you 
this information.” 

“And that incident ?” 

“Was this. I had noticed for many days that the 
unhappy lady, when driving out, seemed ever on the watch 
for the reappearance of this person. To-day he reappeared 
and followed the carriage. I no sooner saw him than J 
pulled the check string, and directed the coachman to return 
home, but in the interval of stopping the coach and giving 
the directions, Mrs. Ravenscroft suddenly snatched a letter 
from her bosom, threw up the window, and cast it at his 
feet. He dismounted, caught up the letter, vaulted into his 
saddle, and galloped away. I asked her what she had done 


« 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


217 


She laughed wildly, and answered, ‘ That which all the 
powers of Hades cannot undo.’ And she freely defied me to 
tell you as much, Sir Vincent. Good heavens ! Sir Vincent I’ 
exclaimed Miss Elmer, in alarm. 

The baronet’s face had turned ghastly white, his head had 
dropped up;3n his chest, his arms had fallen by his sides — he 
seemed completely overwhelmed and crushed. 

Laura Elmer looked at him in terror, and then started to- 
wards the bell-rope, when the baronet raised his hand, with 
the one word “ Stop 1” 

The tone was peremptory, though the word was almost 
inarticulate. 

Laura paused, turned, and retraced her steps towards him. 

‘‘ On your life, on your soul. Miss Elmer, remain where 
you are !” he said ; and, making a great effort, he recovered 
himself and sat up ; and, after a little time, mastering his 
emotion, he arose and walked slowly up and down the floor. 

He was fearful to look upon. His face was livid, his 
brows drawn down over eyes that gleamed and shot forth 
malignant rays, his chin was protruded, and his lips and 
teeth shut and locked as with some fatal grimness of deadly 
resolution. 

Laura shuddered, and averted her head. 

Presently, muttering to himself, he said : 

“ There is but one way — it must be taken.” 

Then, suddenly pausing before Laura, he said : 

“ Miss Elmer, there are times when belief in the fatalism 
of the Turks, and the predestinism of the Calvinists, forces 
itself upon my (ionviction, and I think that we are not only 
fore-doomed to commit certain crimes, but that every means 
will be taken to insure our doing so. Miss Elmer, I esteem 
and respect you, and wish to stand well with you. I pray 
you, therefore, whatever the next few days may bring forth, 
judge of me as leniently as you can — as of one who has 
been ‘more sinned against than sinning.’ And, with one 
final request, 1 will bid you good-morning; and that is, that 
you will speak of the events of this day to no living soul 
unless you should be judicially called upon to do so.” 

Miss Elmer gave the required promise, and retired, full of 
Bad thoughts, from the library. 


218 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


When Laura Elmer returned to her own room, she found 
there a packet that changed the current of her thoughts and 
called a smile to her lips. She cut the cords, and several 
handsomelv bound volumes were revealed to her eyes. Sit- 
ting down, she examined one after the other, and at last, 
selecting the most elegant volume, bound in blue, and gold, 
she wrapped it up, sealed and directed it to the Baroness 
Etheridge, Beresleigh House, and then she rang a bell and 
gave it to a servant to put in the post 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

MORE CONSPIRACIES. 


Oh, conspiracy! 

Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 

To bide thy monstrous visage! Seek none, conspiracy ! 

Hide it in smiles and affability ; 

For if thou put thy native semblance on, 

Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from detection. — Shakspeare, 


When Lady Etheridge returned from her visit to Miss 
Elmer, an'd entered the drawing-room at Beresleigh House, 
she found the duchess and the young ladies in consultation 
over a set of invitations that had been left for the family. 

“And there is one for you, also, my love,” said the duch- 
ess, throwing a billet to Lady Etheridge as the latter sat 
down at the table. 

It was an invitation to-a rural breakfast and masked prom- 
enade, to be given by Lady Howarth at her superb villa at 
Richmond. 

“To go or not to go, 'that is the question ” said tjhe 
duchess. “There has been nothing talked of since the royal 
drawing-room except this grand dijeiine and fUe masque. 
All the world will be there, and I think Lady Etheridge 
would like to see it. What do you say, my love 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 219 

“ Oh, certainly I the scene will be quite new to me. I 
never was at a masquerade.’’ 

“ No, nor was I over at a masquerade of this description 
before — by daylight, I mean. There is to be a breakfast at 
ten, and then a promenade, with music, singing, dancing, 
etc., for the remainder of the day,” said the duchess. 

“ It is decided, then, that we go ?” inquired Lady Katherine 
Wardour. 

“Yes, my dear, so now, therefore, we shall have to tax our 
wits to invent characters and costumes. Kings, queens, 
monks, nuns, gipsies, and Swiss peasants are all so common, 
that we will none of them I We must have something new.’'’ 

After much discussion it was decided that the duchess 
should take the character of a Roman Matron, the Ladies 
Wardour those of Roman Maidens, and that the young, fresh, 
bright beauty of Ijady Etheridge would shine forth most 
fairly as the Morning Star. 

When this was decided, the next few days were spent in 
deciding upon and selecting the proper costumes. 

One morning, while the duchess and her daughters were 
still in discussion with their fancy dress-making. Rose Ether- 
idge took up the Timeti, and read therein an announcement 
of a new edition of that celebrated poem, which then formed 
the most interesting item of conversation in the literary and 
fashionable world. 

“ Oh, how vexed I am that- 1 did not wait a few days for 
this new, improved edition, before sending Miss Elmeracopjr; 
now it will look so odd to send her a second one ; neverthe- 
less, I shall do it,” said Rose. 

“Is the name of the author affixed to this second edition 
inquired the duchess, anxiously. 

“It is not in the advertisement; but it may be on the title- 
page of the book for all that. I shall call at Taylor’s and get 
a copy when I go out to-day, and then see.” 

“ Do so, if you please, my dear,” said the duchess. 

“A parcel for Lady Etheridge,” said a servant, bringing in a 
small packet upon a silver waiter. 

Rose took and opened the covering, revealing a beautiful 
little volume bound in blue and gold. 


220 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


“It is a copy of the new edition of that poem I Who could 
have sent it?” exclaimed Rose. 

Tlien quickly turning to the title-page, she burst into an 
exclamation of joy, with the words: 

“Oh, how stupid of me! I should have known it! Why, 
an idiot might have known that much !” 

“ What is it, dear Rose ?” inquired the duchess. 

“ Why I ought to have known at once who was the author 
of ‘ Woman,’ and 1 was an idiot not to have known it !” 

“ Oh ! the author’s name zs there ! Who is she, then ?” 

“Why, Laura Elmer, of course! I was very, veiy dull 
not to have known it before !” 

“Laura Elmer! Your friend, Laura Elmer! She who 
was brought \ip and educated as the Baroness Etheridge? 
Are you sure ?” exclaimed the duchess. 

“ Why, of course, I am sure now. I ought to have been 
sure at first. Look, your grace !” 

And Rose opened the volume, spreading before the duchess 
the title-page, upon which appeared the words, “ Woman : a 
Poem. By Laura Elmer.” And then turning a fly-leaf, she 
exhibited an autograph of the words — “ To Rosamond, 
Baroness Etheridge, with the love of Laura Elmer. June 
1st, 1800.” 

“ Laura Elmer ! Laura Elmer ! whose education and whose 
antecedents fit her to adorn any circle, and whose genius 
entitles her to the very highest consideration ! Katherine, 
my dear, sit down immediately, and write her an invitation 
to our party of the 10th. There is time enough yet, if you 
send it olf immediately. I will call on her myself to-day. 1 
hope she will soon resign her situation — it is ridiculous, a 
woman of her genius; however, I suppose genius may be said 
to consecrate every position ; and 1 really must secure this 
new literary star for our party of the 10th ! Are you writing 
the invitation, Katherine ?” 

“Yes, mamma.” 

“ Oh, I am so overjoyed ! My dear Miss Elmer 1 I might 
have known that she only could have written that poem !” ex- 
claimed Rose, delightedly. 

The duchess rang, and ordered her carriage, and then turn- 
ing to Rose, said : 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


221 


“I shall call on Miss Elmer this morning ; but must leave 
it to you to persuade her to accept our invitation of the 10th, 
I can well conceive that a lady of Miss Elmer’s pride and 
delicacy may shrink from the idea of appearing in circles, 
which once she might have honored as the Baroness Ether- 
idge of Swinburne, but which she can now grace only as a 
successful woman of genius. But she loves you, and wih 
come to us if she can be made to feel that it will make you 
happy.” 

Rose promised to use her influence, and the duchess de- 
parted to secure the new star of poetry. 

On reaching Lester House, the Duchess of Beresleigh 
inquired first for Lady Lester, whom she was so fortunate as 
to find at home. 

When both the ladies were seated in the drawing-room, 
and had discussed the last party, the last play, and the last 
novel, the duchess said : 

“ I presume that you have found out by this, the author of 
‘ Woman ?’ ” 

“No, I am not so fortunate. Your grace is always the 
first discoverer of a new star in the heavens of poetry, and I 
fancy it is even so in this instance,” replied Lad}'' Lester. 

“And you really do not know who the poet is ?” 

“ Really, no ; how should I ?” 

“ Then it is because the poetess is so close to you that you 
overlook her.” 

“ Who is she, then 

“ Her name is Laura Elmer,” said the duchess, with quiet 
malice. 

“ Laura Elmer ! Miss Elmer ! Our Miss Elmer !” 

“ The world’s Miss Elmer; even so. But you were aware, 
I presume, that she it was who, brought up for twenty years 
to believe herself heiress of Swinburne, enjoying since the age 
of fifteen the title of Baroness of Etheridge, and betrothed to 
a gentleman of ancient family and large fortune, was suddenly, 
on the eve of her marriage, deprived of rank, title, wealth, 
bridegroom and all, by the same strike of fate that placed 
her lost coronet upon the fair brow of my young friend Rosa- 
mond 


222 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“Is it possible ! No, I did not know it, indeed. I knew, 
of course, that the right of the present baroness had to be 
confirmed by the House of Lords, and I saw frequently 
through the debates the name of Magdalene Elmer, deceased ; 
but it never once occurred to me to connect the circumstances 
with the thought of our Miss Elmer,” said Lady Lester, more 
surprised at all these revelations than it was her wont to be at 
any thing. ^ 

“ We most frequently overlook the facts that lie closest to 
us,” said the duchess ; “ but this is what I mean to suggest 
before asking for Miss Elmer, She was brought up and 
educated in the highest circles, as a peeress in her own right; 
her antecedents, her education, and her manners must there- 
fore fit her for any drawing-room in which her poetic celebrity 
makes it desirable to have her. I am, therefore, even the 
more solicitous to secure her for our party of the 10th. But, 
as I wish to leave no point of etiquette unobserved (for proud 
and delicate spirits in adversity are more sensitive and punc- 
tilious in these respects than we are), I have directed that her 
invitation shall not be sent until to-morrow, that I may pay her 
a visit of ceremony to-day. I deemed it proper to make these 
explanations before asking for Miss Elmer,” said the duchess, 
smiling, and producing her card. 

Lady Lester touched the bell. 

A footman appeared. 

“ Take this card to Miss Elmer, and say that we shall be 
happy to see her in the drawing-room,” said Lady Lester. 

The servant withdrew to obey, and Lady Lester, turning 
to the duchess, said — 

“ You will be pleased with the appearance of this young 
lady. She is very distinguished-looking ; her manner is more 
than lady-like : it is imposing. I am well pleased to believe 
that even when we did not know her claims to consideration, 
she has always been treated with proper respect by this 
household.” 

The duchess smiled approval. She did not know as yet 
that it was impossible even for the boldest to treat Laura 
Elmer with any thing but respect. 

In a few m-^ments the door opened, and a tall, graceful, 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


228 


dignified woman entered. Her stately form was clothed iu 
black ; her queenly head crowned only with its own bands 
of rich, glossy black hair ; her pure pale face, large luminous 
eyes, and mutely eloquent lips, were full of sweetness, intel- 
lect, and dignity. Graceful in movement and gracious in 
manner, she advanced into the room. 

“ Your grace, permit me to present to you my young 
friend, Miss Elmer. Miss Elmer, the Duchess of Beres- 
leigh,” said Lady Lester. 

“I am happy to meet one for whom I have been so 
long in search — the gifted poetess of ‘Woman,’” said the 
duchess. 

Laura Elmer bowed slowly and gravely to this direct com- 
pliment, and silently took her seat. 

“ Proud,” thought the duchess, and then, resolved to melt 
this natural pride, she continued : 

“ I hold myself deeply fortunate in this meeting to-day 
for even while anxious to discover the unknown author of 
‘ Woman,’ 1 felt desirous of knowing a young lady with 
whose many claims to respect my friend Lady Etheridge 
had made me familiar.” 

Laura smiled ambiguously, saying — 

“ Lady Etheridge is very good. Her version of certain 
calamities may have interested you, as they might have done 
other benevolent hearts, in the subject of such strange 
reverses.” 

“ Nay, it was not so much the reverses, strange and 
calamitous as they were, but the manner in which they were 
met and borne, that interested me in their subject. A dethroned 
queen would never interest me from the mere fact of her de- 
thronement, but from the heroism with which she would bear 
such a misfortune.” 

Again Laura Elmer only answered by bowing deeply and 
gravely. 

The duchess lowered her voice, and said, gently : 

“A truce to these comparisons, which I see are not to your 
taste. You have lost the transient golden coronet of a peeress, 
that you must at last have laid down at death, but you have 
won the immortal bay wreath of the poet, that must be yours 
forever.” 


224 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


The perfect sincerity of this encomium might be said to 
justify its directness. Nevertheless, Laura Elmer blushed 
intensely, and recovering herself, answered, in grave sweet- 
ness : 

“And yet the golden circlet is a harmless bauble, while 
the bay wreath bears a poisoned leaf, and when set upon a 
woman’s brow, is also twined with the crown of thorns, whose 
pressure tracks wdth her own life’s current every footstep up 
the heights of fame.” 

“A poet’s'thought eloquently uttered,” said the duchess, 
sinking into a brief re very. 

When the conversation revived there was no resisting the 
determined affability of the duchess, even though she fell into 
the amiable error often committed by persons of high rank, 
towards the sensitive children of genius, that is to say, into 
an excessive graciousness ©f condescension, than which 
nothing can be more wounding to^^prqud and delicate spirit. 

And Laura Elmer, on her part,\^ght have been in danger 
of making the corresponding mistake of interpreting this ex- 
treme politeness and direct flattery as the covert insolence of 
rank, only that the perfect sincerity of her grace shone through 
all her discourse. 

On rising to take her leave, the duchess said : 

“ I hope to see you frequently at Beresleigh House, my 
dear Miss Elmer. My son and daughter will be happy to 
know you, and your coming will always delight our guest, 
your friend. Lady Etheridge.” 

“ I thank 3^ou, madam. I shall be very happy,” replied 
Laura Elmer. And so the visit terminated. 

“ She is the very Queen of Poetry. She will make a 
decided sensation. I shall have the two brightest stars, 
namely, of beauty and of genius, in my drawing-room on the 
10th,” said the duchess, when she had reached home, and 
found herself alone with Lady Etheridge. 

“Oh, is she not? I told you so !” exclaimed Rose, with 
a face beaming with delight. 

“ I hope she understands her points, and knows how to • 
dress herself. Oddly enough these poetesses costume their 
ideal characters beautifully, but never know how to array 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


225 


tbemsclves. I suppose they never g;ive their minds to the 
necessary details of millinery ; that must be it. I wish 
I dared send my maid to her. Xow, I know e.xactly what 
her dress ought to be. It should ha purple velvet, with 
point lace, and pearls in her hair. I wish some fairy grand- 
mother would dress her so for our party,” said the duchess. 

“ Oh ! you need not doubt her, madam; her taste in dress, 
as in all other things, is perfect,” said Rose, with enthusiasm. 

The event justified the confident prediction. On the even- 
ing of the 10th, the beauty and fashion of the town were 
assembled at Beresleigh House. Tlie ducliess had informed 
many of her friends, who had told all the others, that the new 
star, the unknown poetess, would be present. And among 
other interesting subjects of conversation, the expected arrival 
of Miss Elmer was discussed. 

At length were successively announced the names : 

‘‘ Lady Lester,” Mr. Ruthven Lester,” and Miss Elmer.” 
And the party entered. 

Every one knew the Lesters. The queenly woman, on 
the arm of Lady Lester could, therefore, only be Miss Elmer. 
All eyes were turned towards her. The duchess felt that 
she need not have trembled for her protegee? s costume. It 
was the perfection of propriety, suiting to a degree, the season, 
the occasion, and the person of the wearer. Her graeeful 
form was arrayed in a rich black velvet robe, made low in 
the bosom and short in the sleeves ; her beautiful neck and 
arms were veiled with white point lace, fine as cobwebs, and 
adorned with circlets of pearls ; a fillet of pearls bound her 
raven black hair away from her broad forehead, so tliat it fell 
in a glittering cascade of ringlets at the back of her neCk. 

A murmur of irrepressible admiration greeted her appear- 
ance, as -Lady Lester conducted her through the drawing- 
rooms toward the place where the duchess stood to welcome 
her guests. 

The facts of her antecedents, as well as of her pre.sent social 
rank, were unknown or ignored. That she was Laura Elmer, 
the poetess, patronized by the Duchess of Beresleigh, and by 
Lady Lester, was deemed a sufficient passport to the favor 
of the most exclusive conservator of rank present. That her 
14 


226 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


beauty, dress, and address were all of a very high order, was 
another recommendation, though probably a less important 
one. 

The kindness of the Duchess of Deresleigh towards Laura 
Elmer sprang equally from her grace’s well-known admira- 
tion of genius, and her sincere esteem of Miss Elmer’s per- 
sonal character. 

The kindness of Lady Lester in the same direction, origi 
Dated in less pure motives. Her ladyship courted Laura El- 
mer, not as the gifted poetess or the excellent woman, but as 
the intimate and influential friend of Lady Etheridge, whose 
wealthy alliance she desired for her son Ruthven. 

The high consideration of the Duchess of Beresleigh and 
Lady Lester, springing from opposite motives as it did, was, 
nevertheless, the best introduction Laura Elmer had to the 
society in which she found herself. 

The duchess received her with distinguished favor, and im- 
mediately presented her to those friends who stood nearest 
her own person. 

Lady Lester and Mr. Ruthven Lester never relaxed their 
polite attentions, and Laura Elmer became the lioness of the 
evening. 

Meanwhile, where were her thoughts? 

Far off, with one at home, who, in his little attic-den, bent 
a pale and patient brow over a ponderous law-book — with 
one whose silent worship bad been deeply felt and long ac- 
knowledged. And through all the triumph of that evening, 
Laura Elmer looked forward with impatience to the hour that 
should take her home, and to the slight chance of meeting 
Cassinove’s mournful dark eyes, and placing her hand in bis 
with a friendly “ Good-night,” before retiring to her room. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Ruthven lester, leaving his mother to 
cultivate the good graces of MiSv« Elmer, devoted himself to 
the beautiful Lady Etheridge. 

Rose listened absently to the graceful nothings droj/ped 
into her weary ear by the handsomest man in town, while her 
eyes covertly sought out the Duke of Beresleigh, who, leaving 
her to be monopolized by Mr. Ruthven I^ester, directf'O his 
own courtesies '^ery impartially among the ladies of the 
pany. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


227 


“Ah, me I there is always some drawback to all one^s earthlj 
enjoyments ! What have I done that he should avoid me so 
persistently ?” sighed Rose, to herself. 

“ How will slie pass this ordeal of adulation ? Oh ! would 
it were over, and that I were free to offer her the love that 
consumes my heart,” groaned George, Duke of Reresleigh, to 
himself, as he covertly watched the centre of a worship})ing 
circle of attendants. 

The brilliant evening, with its little world of successes, 
failures, triumphs, defeats, heart-burnings and heart-bleed- 
ings, came to an end. 

The company dispersed. 

Rose, weary of her triumphs, mourning over her one sup- 
posed failure, sought her chamber, threw herself into her 
chair, snatched the tiara of diamonds from her brow, and civ- 
claimed : 

“Oh, life! life I life! brilliant, mocking! how hollow and 
unsatisfying thou art !” 

Laura Elmer, in returning home with the Lesters, was oc- 
cupied with one thought. 

“Shall I see Cassiiiove to-night, and bid him ‘Good-night,^ 
before we retire ?” 

Her secret hope was gratified. He was standing in the 
hall when they entered. 

Lady Lester was in great good-humor, and came in com- 
plimenting Miss Elmer. Seeing Mr, Cassinove, she said : 

“Ah, Mr. Cassinove, you should have seen what a sensa- 
tion our friend created at the Duchess of Beresleigh’s party 
to-night. Congratulate her, sir.” 

“ The Duchess and her friends are rather to be congratulated, 
madam,” said Mr. Cassinove, gravely and sweetly, as he 
bowed to Laura Elmer. 

Their eyes met. 

“The approbation of one esteemed friend is better than the 
admiration of the whole world beside,” said Laura Elmer, in 
a tone that made his heart thrill with joy. 

“Good-night,” she said, holding out her hand, receiving 
and returning the slight pressure that sent him happier to his 
rest , 


228 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Laura Elmer retired to her room ; but the adventures of 
the night were not yet over. In her life of isolation and soli- 
tude she had formed the habit of reading in her chamber every 
night until she became sleepy. For this purpose she always 
kept a volume on hand. The book now in progress of perusal 
happened to be “Ivanhoe.^’ Feeling too much excited by flic 
events of the day to go at once to sleep, Laura looked about 
for her book, without being able to find it. Then suddenly 
recollecting that she had left it in the drawing-room below 
stairs, and feeling the more anxious to read it because it hap- 
pened to be out of her way, she threw on her dressing-gown, 
took a taper, and went softly down the stairs to re-possess 
herself of her missing treasure. The house was quite still ; 
the’ world seemed buried in the deep repose of the still small 
hours. 

As she reached the lower landing a sudden draught from 
the library door, that stood open immediately on the left at 
the foot of the staircase, blew out the taper. At the same 
moment, the sight within that library spell-bound her to the 
spot with astonishment. The lights were all out, but, by the 
smouldering fire of the grate, she saw the figures of two meq 
seated at the writing-table near the rug. The one with his 
face fronting the fire-place was Sir Vincent Lester, and even 
in the red and lurid light of the dying fire his face was 
ghastly pale, his brows were corrugated, and great drops of 
agony were beaded upon his forehead. 

The other figure sat with his back towards the door, and, 
consequently, his face was hidden from Laura Elmer ; but 
by the general contour of his form, and by the peculiar air of 
his head, and especially by his light hair, she recognized him 
as the mysterious stranger who had twice met Mrs. Ravens- 
croft in the park, and whose relations with the family of Sir 
Vincent seemed, too, as baleful as they were inexplicable. 

It took but one instant to impress this strange scene upon 
the brain of Laura Elmer, and then deeply shocked by what 
she had inadvertently witnessed, she turned hastily to retrace 
her steps to her chamber. 

In her hurried retreat, a few words from the library 
reached her ear, the first from Sir V incent Lester, in a voice 
half-suffocated with emotion. 


rHE BRIDAL EVE. 


229 



“For her sake, then ; she loves you.” 

A derisive laugh from the other was the only reply 
“Oh, heaven ! you would not destroy her I” burst in an* 
guish from Sir Vincent. 

“I will give you ten days, and then ” 

Laura heard no more ; she had passed out of the reach 
of the voices. 

She gained the privacy of her own room, and with no dis* 
position either to sleep or to read, retired to rest. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE MASKED BREAKFAST AND PROMENADE. 


The music, and the banquet, and the wine — 

The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers— 

The sparkling eyes and flashing ornaments — 

The white arms and the raven hair — the braids 
And bracelets; swan-like bosom, and the necklace, 

An India in itself ; yet dazzling not 

The eye, like what it circled ; the thin robes. 

Floating like light clouds, ’twixt our gaze and heaven. 

All the illusions of the dizzy scene. 

Its false and true enchantments — Art and Nature. — Byron. 


The long-looked-for day of Lady Howarth’s rural break- 
fast and promenade at her superb villa at Richmond came at 
length. 

At an early hour the Duchess of Beresleigh and her party, 
consisting of tlie Baroness Etheridge and the Ladies War- 
dour, entered their carriages to proceed to the .scene of 
Arcadian festivity. 

The morning drive from London to Richmond, along the 
banks of the beautiful Thames, througli sunny meadows and 
shady groves, in all the luxuriant verdure of an early sum- 
mer time, was the purest enjoyment of natural scenery that 
R^se had experienced since leaving her beautifu. home at 
Swinburne Castle. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


230 

It was nearly twelve o’clock when they reached the villa, 
an elegant mansion of white stone, crowning a commanding 
height above the river. Behind the house stood a tall, close, 
well-kept wood ; before it rolled a green lawn, in all the 
dewy freshness of June, and adorned by grand old oak-trees, 
standing singly or in groups, at various distances, between 
the mansion house and the water’s edge. 

The lawn presented a strange and grotesque scene. Such 
anachronisms of history and geography, such solecisms of 
rank and caste of politics and religion, might have afflicted 
the uninitiated beholders with temporary insanity. It was 
covered with a multitude of people in the costumes of all 
countries, all ages, and all classes ; here were fantastic kings 
and queens of ancient and modern times, of savage and 
civilized nations, met upon familiar terms ; here, if all unity 
of time and place was confounded, all discord of principle 
and opinion was harmonized ; here the Jewish High Priest 
of the age of Tiberius walked side by side with the English 
Quakeress of to-day; a chief of the North American Indians 
promenaded with a Princess of the Court of Louis le Grand ; 
a Sultan of Turkey flirted with two Nuns of Spain ; a 
Thug of farther India sat down with a Sister of Mercy ; 
even His Holiness the Pope- might have been seen sauntering 
along, flanked by a Brigand on his right hand, and a Briga- 
dier on his left, and in occasional friendly conversation with 
a terrific black mask said to be his Satanic Majesty ; while 
monks, gipsies, bandits, peasants, etc., of all countries and 
ages wandered about singly, or in pairs, trios, quartettes, or 
groups. 

The Duchess of Beresleigh was dressed as a Roman 
Matron, the Ladies Wardour as Roman Maidens. 

Lady Etheridge, as Aurora, was beautifully arrayed in a 
floating cloud-like robe of azure and rose-colored gauze. A 
single diamond, like the morning star, blazed upon her fair 
forehead, and a large veil, like a silvery rrorning mist, 
covered her form. Her dress, her figure, and her graceful 
motions excited universal admiration as she passed, but the 
close black velvet mask concealed her lovely features. 

The scene, so novel and so entertaining, engaged her youth- 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 



ful fancy She knew that under those various and grotesque 
disguises the aristocracy, celebrity, beauty, and fashion of the 
town, were present. 

Some, from the peculiarity of their figure, gait, and manner, 
the duchess was enabled to identify and point out to her young 
charge. 

“That fine-looking woman, dressed as the Goddess I'iana, 
is the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire, my love.’’ 

“Yes; there is no mistaking her graceful carriage. But 
who is that stately woman in the character of Cleopatra ?” 

“I think the Margravine of Anspach ; there is the Mar- 
grave, as Marc Antony.” 

“And that oriental-looking beauty, dressed as a Sultana?” 

“ Hush ! speak low I one, my dear, who bartered her 
woman’s fame for a prince’s fickle favor, and lost both — the 
celebrated Mrs. Fitzherbert.” 

Rose crimsoned and became silent. 

The lady’s name, for praise and blame, had blown far over 
England, and reached even Rose’s distant home. Rose 
walked on in embarrassed silence, until the ever-changing 
kaleidoscopic scene again raised her curiosity. 

“ Oh, can you tell me who that veiled beauty, dressed as 
an Eastern Princess, and wafting all the perfumes of Arabia 
as she walks, can be ?” 

“ Yes ; she is the beautiful Mrs. Bristow, lately returned 
from Constantinople. She has taken the character of ‘ Nour- 
mahal, the Harem’s Light.’ You remember the Feast of 
Roses, in ‘ Lalah Rookh V ” 

“ Yes.” 

They ])assed on. Breakfast tables, covered with all the 
luxuries of the season, were set at intervals about the lawn. 
A large number of masked figures in white dominoes, offi- 
ciated as masters of the ceremonies, and stood in readiness 
lo marshal the guests to the tables. It was rumored that 
they only awaited the arrival of his Royal Highness the 
Prince of AVales, who was to honor the file with his presence. 

This was the first the Duchess of Beresleigh had heard of 
the anticipated presence of the prince, and the rumor sorne- 
wliat disturbed her; but she consoled herself with the 


232 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


thought that, in a crowd of five hundred people, her party 
might easily escape royal notice. 

A little after one o’clock, an agitation tlrat move.^ the multi-' 
tu-de as tli-e winds sway the waves of the sea, announced that 
the prince had arrived, though where be was eovild l)e knowo 
only to his hostess and the very few others who were in the 
secret of his disguise. 

’riie signal was given for breakfast, and the inas^ters of the 
ceremonies began to arrange the guests tiit the variotts tables, 
d’he ntasks were not laid aside even during that lo-ng feast^ 
which made the business of eating and drinking rather ineon- 
venient and awkward. 

At the close of the breakfast tire tables were swept away 
as if by nmgic^ and the real busincs.^ atKi pleasure of the day 
commenced. 

Music, dancing, waltzing, games, and singing went forward 
everywhere over the grounds and in the house. 

The duchess and her party remained as specdato'rs only, not 
wishing to enter into the active amusements of a company 
where all the figures were masked, and most of them quite 
unknown. 

At length an enterprise was opened in which tlie duchess 
thought herself and party might safely join. A number ot 
young children, dressed as fairies, and without masks, came 
around among the guests to distribute tickets for a grand 
lottery, to be drawn at the villa at four o’clock. 

’J'he duchess, her daughters, and Lady Etl^eridge took 
tickets ; and as the hour of drawing was near at hand, they ’ 
repaired to the bouse. A crowd was already around the 
wheel. Many blanks, with a few trifling prizes, were drawn. 
The crowd of ticket-holders, and also of unintej’ested specta- 
tors, poured into the bouse, filling up the balls and rooms. 
The second prize was drawn by the I^uchess of Gorrlon — it 
was an emerald ring of great value. The crowd pressed 
near to see it, and Lady Etheridge felt herself forcibly sepa- 
rated from the Duchess of Beresleigb, and pressed onwards 
towards the wheel. Her number was called out. Expecta- 
tion was on the qui vive. She drew, and obtained the first 
prize — a gold locket set around with diamonds of inestimable 
value. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


233 


She blushed deeply at her success, and turned the jewels 
as if in search of the secret of unfastening it, when she fell 
herself touched upon the shoulder. She turned, and saw a 
lady, masked, and in the costume of Minerva, with helmet, 
shield, and spear, standing near her, who stooped, and whis- 
pered : 

“It opens with a spring; press the diamond there under 
the ring, and it will fly open ; but do not open it here.” 

Rose, disturbed by being addressed by a stranger, looked 
around for her party, but could not see them anywhere. The 
crowd had entirely cut her off from their company. 

“ You are in search of the Duchess of Beresleigh ? I will 
conduct you to her side,” said the masked lady. 

“Thank you; I shall be very much obliged,” answered 
Rose. 

“ Follow me, then, if you please,” said the unknown, lead- 
ing t^^e way — first through the drawing-room, where the 
lottery had just been ended, thence through a room fitted up 
with musical instruments of every description, and in which a 
number of opera singers were performing, for the amusement 
of a portion of the company, to the door of r,a adjoining 
apartment, which she opened, saying : 

“The Duchess has gone into this room to rest and refresh 
herself: enter, and you will find her.” 

Rose crossed the threshold, and found herself in a luxurious 
apartment, fitted up in the Turkish style, with ottomans, 
cushions, and other voluptuous accessories, in the midst of 
the room stood a richly gilded table, laden with rare wines, 
fruits, jellies, sweetmeats, etc. There was no one in the 
apartment, and Rose looked around, expecting the re-appear- 
ance of the Duchess of Beresleigh. Supposing that she had, 
perhaps, only retired for a few moments. Rose felt no uneasi- 
ness, but seating herself upon an ottoman, touched the 
spring of the locket for the purpose of examining it. The 
case flew open, and revealed the miniature of the prince, set 
in brilliants. On the reverse side vvere the words — L' Amour 
est VAngo da Monde. 

Flushing with confusion and alarm. Rose turned to 
the room and seek the duchess elsewhere, when her parp'. 


234 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


was prevented by the entrance of a mask in the costume of 
Phoebus Apollo, who advanced towards her, saying ; 

“Apollo greets Aurora, the Sun salutes the Morning Star.” 

“ The Morning Star always disappears with the rising of 
the Sun,’’ answered Rose, gliding towards the door. 

“ Nay, pause, beautiful one ! He is no stranger that ad- 
dresses you. Behold 1” And tbe unknown lifted his mask, 
revealing his features. 

“ The prince !” 

The heart of Rose beat with agitation and terror ; yet con- 
trolling herself by a great effort, she courtesied deeply to the 
heir of the crown, and speaking with the most respectful cold- 
ness, she said : 

“ I am fortunate in having this opportunity of returning to 
your royal highness a jewel which could only have reached 
my hands through the greatest mistake.” 

And she laid the locket on the table before him, and turned 
to leave the room. 

•But he took her hand, and reseated her upon the ottoman, 
saying : 

“ Nay, retain the gift, most beautiful Rose, and behold the 
giver at your feet.” 

And then, with the grace, fervor, and eloquence of which 
he was the perfect master, he told, to perhaps the hundredth 
hearer, the oft-repeated tale of his unchangeable love — a 
prince’s love. 

“‘A prince’s love!’ a prince’s insult! an insult as deep, 
coming from your royal highness, as though it had been of- 
fered by the lowest hind in your dominions !” exclaimed Lad}’’ 
Etheridge, indignantly, as she arose to depart. 

“ Stay, enchanting girl I Even your severity does but 
make you the more charming. Anger is the severest test of 
beauty, and your beauty bears it well. You are divine in 
anger. Hear me, then. I know that you are the last Baron- 
ess Etheridge of Swinburne, but ” 

“ If I were the humblest cottage-girl in England my answer 
should be the same. Will your royal highness be pleased to 
'et me pass ?” 

“ One moment, lovely girl ! I was about to say that I 


235 


\ THE BRIDAL EVE. 

know yon are the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, and that 
there is little that even a prince can oiler to exalt your station ; 
but if the rank of an English duchess would win one smile 
from those cherub lips, it should be yours.” 

“And if your royal highness could offer me the rank of a 
princess, my answer must still be the same. If there be those 
who think 'the splendor consecrates the crime,’ of such am 
not I. No crown would become a woman’s brow c?z«crowiied 
of honor I” said Rose, with generous indignation. 

The prince continued to gaze upon the beautiful young 
monitress, but the expression of his countenance had changed 
from admiration to wonder and reverence. No one ever felt 
a deeper veneration for virtue, whenever he found it, than this 
naturally honorable but much perverted prince. Something 
in the changed expression of his face appealed deeply to the 
moral sensibilities of Rose. She spoke as from inspiration. 

“Your royal highness has wounded my ears with words 
that have grieved and humiliated me beyond measure ; but if, 
in the grief and vexation of my soul, I have forgotten the dis- 
tance between the subject and the son of her sovereign, arid 
replied with more warmth than respect, I eai’nestly enti'eat 
your pardon, and solicit your permission to speak a few words 
of sober truth, a thing, I am told, that seldom reaches the ears 
of princes.” 

“ (yo on, fair preacher. Truth can never be unlovely or 
unwelcome, presented by so beautiful an advocate.” 

“ You are the prince, the heir of the crown, the hope, the 
stay, the exaiuple of a great nation ; your rank is royal, your 
person sacred. Oh, prince ! be princely ! Be all that is 
meant in that word princely. After we have said of a model 
man that he is wise, good and great; that he is brave, gen- 
croas, and magnanimous, we say, as the superlative of all 
this, that he is princely. Oh, prince ! be princely !” 

And so saying, with her beautiful countenance exalted to 
fervid enthusiasm. Lady Etheridge passed from the room, 
while the eyes of the prince followed her with a gaze full of 
admiration, wonder, and reverence. 

He did not again attempt to detain her ; persuasion, not 
forcCj was tbe weapon of the prince. 

X 


236 


THE BRIDAL E VB. 


This admiration of her virtues only strengthened his desire 
to win her heart. He pulled the bell-rope impatiently, and a 
page entered. 

“ Send my equerry hither,” was the order of his royal 
highness. 

The page bowed low and disappeared. 

A few minutes elapsed, and Colonel M’Eiroy entered the 
presence with a deep reverence. 

The prince regarded him with an angry and sarcastic ex- 
pression, saying : 

“ 1 have to congratulate you, sir, on the eminent success of 
your second stratagem !” 

“ Your royal highness has at least received a private inter- 
view with the lady ; which was all that I could pledge my- 
self for,” replied the equerry, bending lowly. 

“And this is the result!” said the prince, angrily, taking 
up and throwing down the locket. “ She has returned my 
gift with a gratuitous lecture.” 

“ Perhaps a more costly offering would have been more 
successful.” 

“ 1 do not believe she can be bought !” 

“ Pardon me, your royal highness did not, perhaps, bid 
high enough.” 

“ I do not believe she can be bought I” angrily repeated 
the prince. 

“ Pardon, once more, your royal highness ; but one who 
knew this world right well, declared that every man had his 
price, and / have never yet met the woman who had nrt hers. 
It is but a question of more or less expense, of shorter or 
longer time.” 

“ I offered her the rank of a duchess.” 

“ She is likely to obtain that honorably, and without the aid 
of your royal highness.” 

“ What, then, was left for me to do ? I could not tempt 
her, as I did Fitzherbert, with the rank of a princess and the 
prospective rank of a queen.” 

“ No, your royal highness ; it is rather too late in the day 
'or that.” 

“ Wha^ then, was to be done ? What the deuce do you 

/ 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


237 


mean by your talk of the conquest of this woman being a 
matter of more or less expense, and of shorter and of longer 
time ? I care nothing for expense, but a great deal for time I 
I must win that girl, whatever it may cost, M’Elroy ! but I 
must win her soon ! By my soul, she is the most enchanting 
creature I ever saw ! Tell me, what is to be done 

“ If your royal highness would trust me 

“ What I after two failures ?” 

“ With submission to your royal highness, I would humbly 
suggest that this second stratagem has scarce!}^ been a failure 
on my part, since it has accomplished all that it promised — a 
private interview with the lady, an opportunity of pleading 
your cause to her alone.’’ 

“ That is true : and if my pleadings proved unsuccessful, 
you are not to be blamed, I suppose ?” said the prince. 

M’Elroy bowed in answer, adding: 

“ Nor should your royal highness be discouraged with the 
manner in which the lady met your advances. She was un- 
prepared, surprised ; she was not, perhaps, so accustomed to 
be wooed as your royal highness is to winning, and, perhaps, 
you had not discovered her prior,''! 

“ Then, why the deuce do you not discover it for me ?” 
What else do I keep you for ?” demanded the provoked 
prince. 

“ To serve your royal highness to the best of my poor 
ability, as becomes your humble servant. And, if your royal 
highness will deigTi to leave this affair exclusively in my 
hands, giving me authority to conduct it as I see fit, I think 
I can pledge myself to bring it to a successful issue.” 

“ Then I give you a caj'te blanche to do as you please in 
this matter, with one proviso, that you do nothing unworthy 
of the prince.” 

“ On my head be it if T do I” exclaimed this zealous and 
unscrui)ulous instrument of the royal pleasures and vices, as 
he mentally formed, against the peace and honor of Lady 
Etheridge, a plan the most diabolical that ever entered the 
head of man or fiend. 

Meantime, the subject of this plot, hurrying through the 
iGis-ic-room and through the drawing-rooms, everywhere 


r 


238 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


sought the Duchess of Beresleigh, whom she found at last 
at the hall door. 

“Well, my love, I have been seeking you all over the 
house and the grounds for the last two hours; but believing 
you to be most probably within the villa, I took my 
position here like any porter, as the most likely place to see 
you as you should pass out. But what on earth is the mat- 
ter ? You are pale and trembling. You are agitated. You 
are ill. What has happened to alarm or distress you, my 
love exclaimed the duchess on observing the greatly dis- 
turbed appearance of Rose. 

“ Oh, madam, let us go hence ! let us return home at 
once exclaimed Rose, excitedly. 

“ Willingly ; it has been a pleasant day upon the whole, 
but I, also, am cpiite tired. I will not ask you for an ex- 
planation of your distress until we have reached the privacy 
of your own dressing-room at Beresleigh House,” said her 
grace. 

The carriages were ordered, and the duchess and her party 
prepared to return. 

While they stood waiting, the duchess sought to cheer her 
drooping young friend. Pointing to the beautiful and varied 
landscape of hill and dale, and grove and river, all bathed in 
the clear sunlight of a June afternoon, she said — 

“ Do but look up, Rose. What a glorious day ! With 
what a lively green the fields and groves are clothed ; how 
deeply blue and clear the sky, how high the dome of heaven.” 

Rose looked, and heaved a sigh. 

“Ah, madam, so I thought when we came out this morn- 
ing. Now, alas I I might say with Hamlet, that ‘ It goes 
so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, tho 
earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most excellent 
canopy, the air — look you — this brave, o’erhanging firma- 
ment, this majestical roof, fretted with golden fii-e — why it 
appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent con- 
gregation of vapors.’” 

The carriages now came up; the duchess and her party 
entered, and were driven home to Beresleigh House. 

Her grace lost no time in seeking Lady Etheridge in 
>essing-room of the latter. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 239 

** !N’ow, ray love, that we are alone, you may tell me what 
so distressed you at the villa.” 

“ Oh, madam, an event that makes it necessary that I 
should beg your grace to absolve me from my promise of 
spending the season with you, and to sanction my immediate 
return to Swinburne Castle,” said Rose, excitedly. 

“ Explain, my love,” said the duchess. 

Lady Etheridge, with deep blushes, commenced, and 
related the details of her enforced interview with the prince. 

“Ah, I see it all now. The breakfast, the masked promen- 
ade, the lottery, all was got up for the especial purpose of 
bringing about your meeting with his royal highness. There 
are men and women, too, I am sor^y to say, of the highest 
rank, who thus lend themselves to the purposes of royalty. 
You are right, my love, we must leave town ; but we shall 
turn not to Swinburne Castle, but to Beresleigb Court, where 
I shall still claim you as my guest,” said the duchess. 

And this course was immediately decided upon. But an 
unforeseen event that shall be related in the next cdiap^-wr, 
prezented the contemplated journey, and turned the "‘f 
our heroine. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE AMBUSH. 


Bid her remember that the ways of Heaven, 

Though dark, are just; that oft some guardian power 
Attends unseen to save the innocent ! 

But if high Heaven decrees her fall, oh, bid her 

Firmly to wait the stroke; prepared alike 

To live or die ! — Barbarossa. 


The next morning, while Lady Etheridge was engaged it 
giving directions to her maid in regard to the safe keeping of 
her costly jewelry, preparatory to her journey into the coun- 
try, a letter was laid before her, which, opening, she found to 
bo the appointment of herself as maid of honor to the queen. 


240 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


with a cojDinand to her to repair immediately to Windsor, 
where the court was then residing. 

With the letter in her hand, Rose went to the dressing- 
room of the duchess, and, being admitted, put it into her 
hands. 

My dear, this is fortunate. You need not now leave 
town ; the court of Queen Charlotte will be a refuge,” said 
(he dudiess, with a smile. 

Rose answered that smile with a brighter one. Young, 
beautiful, wealthy, and noble — queen of beauty and of fashion 
in her first London season, she was well pleased to be de- 
livered from the necessity of leaving town at the very acme 
of her social triumph. 

“ You need not countermand your packing, my dear, as you 
must take your wardrobe to Windsor with you, of course,” 
said the duche.ss. 

“When should I leave?” inquired Rose, 

“ To-morrow afternoon, at farthest. I shall go down in a 
few days after you. Now, run away and superintend your 
preparations.” 

And the interview closed. 

The evening of the same day a tall, thin, dark figure of a 
man, with his coat-collar turned up and his hat pulled low 
over his brow, might have been seen treading some of the 
narrowest courts and alleys in one of the most crowded parts 
of central London. He paused before a great dilapidated 
house, that had, in the olden times, been the town mansion 
of a proud prelate ; but, long fallen from its high estate, was 
a tenement crowded with beggars, tramps, and thieves, who, 
after pursuing, all day long, their nefarious trades through 
the streets, retired here at night, some to eat, drink, and 
sleep, some to concoct new plans of robbery, and others to 
hide from the pursuit of the law, for as yet the character of 
this house was unknown to the police, and its mouldering 
walls yet afforded sure refuge for fugitives. 

“ Disgusting place ! What ever can Roberts be hiding for 
now? For nothing that has brought him much profit, or he 
would not be perdu here ; he would get out of the country,” 
said the man, «.s he entered the wide, open hall door, and 


THE BRIDAL EYE. 


241 


picked his way, loathingly, along a lofty passage and up a 
broad staircase, common to all the tenants of the building, 
and as filthy as the foulest outside alley, or the most neglected 
stable-yard. The only modification was that on every suc- 
cessive landing, the dirt was a little less thick and moist, as 
though the adhering contaminations from without had grad- 
ually fallen off from ascending footsteps. From the open 
doors of every room in this house, squalid children tumbled 
in and out, and the querulous voices of angry, drunken, or 
&uffering men and women were heard. 

Through all this the visitor passed up to the third floor, and 
turned to a door on the right, and gave a peculiar rap. 

“ Come in,” said a very pleasant, manly voice. 

The visitor entered a large front room, dark, dingy, and 
scantily furnished, yet free from the dirt that defiled the lower 
rooms and passages. 

“ Eh I what the deuce, Roberts ; that was your voice, but 
where are you ?” inquired he, looking about him, in the semi- 
obscurity of the apartment. 

“ Here,” answered the same clear, soft voice, as the owner 
emerged from some dark corner and opened the window shut- 
ters, letting in a sufficiency of light to reveal the room and* 
its meagre furniture — a large four-posted bed, with dark and; 
tattered green curtains, a worm-eaten oak table, ricketty 
chairs, and so forth. 

The occupant was a well-dressed, handsome, fair-haired man) 
with a sweet, happy, and candid expression of countenance. 

“ Welcome, most noble Mac, to the old palace of the lord 
bishops of Ely. It is many centuries since the followers of a 
court honored its halls with their presence,” said the inmate 
of this room, advancing to meet his visitor. 

“Eh, good heavens, William, what has brought you, the 
greatest epicurean in town, to this beastly place ?” exclaimed 
the visitor, in dismay. 

“Necessity, good Mac; necessity which knows no law. 
Rut I may ask, in my turn, what brings the most assiduous 
courtier of the day into this same ‘ beastly’ place?” 

“ Remotei/, the same necessity ; proximately your note of 
tJhis morning.” 

15 


242 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“Aye, my note. I wrote to you by a trusty messenger to 
fiend me ten pounds ; I thought you would have sent it. 

“1 chose to bring it. I have been for days in search of 
you, and considered myself very lucky this morning in re- 
ceiving your note.” 

“Even though it cost you ten pounds,” laughed the fair- 
haired man. 

“Even so,” said the other, going to the door and securing 
it. Then, returning to the side of William Roberts, he 
said — 

“ I wish to engage you in an enterprise of some danger, but 
much profit.” 

“ You know, Mac,” said the soft-spoken man, “ that danger 
is a decidedly objectionable element in any enterprise in which 
I am to be engaged.” 

“ Oh, I know, William, that courage is not among your 
vices, but avarice is certainly one of your noblest virtues ; 
and this adventure, if it has the least spice of danger, has 
also the largest promise of profit.” 

“Explain.” 

“ I will, darkly. For instance, a certain nobleman has be- 
come desperately enamored of a certain beautiful girl, with- 
out parents or guardians to protect her. He cannot marry 
the girl upon account of our national prejudice in favor of a 
man having but one wife, and she is not to be won on any 
other terms. To-morrow afternoon this girl takes a journey 
to Windsor in a- post-chaise, with no attendant but her maid 
and footman. She must be waylaid and carried off.” 

The fair-haired, soft-spoken man shook his head, murmur- 
ing— 

“ Ugly business I ugly business ! Is your nobleman privy 
to this proceeding ?” 

“ Nay, now, William, you do not show your usual per- 
spicacity. My lord will do nothing, and permit nothing to 
be done, unworthy of a — nobleman.” 

“But yet he would avail himself of any circumstance that 
placed this girl in his power ?” 

“ Nay, I do not even say that; but what I say is, that I 
shall place this beauty in his power, and give him the oppor- 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 243 

tunity and the choice of playing the desperate lover or the 
magnanimous hero.” 

“Perilous! but what aid do you require from me per- 
sonally ?” 

“ Such aid only as shall make you ‘ personally’ perfectly 
safe. You must engage six or eight of your most resolute 
companions. They must start for Windsor to-morrow morn- 
ing, and go on until they reach Hounslow Heath. There, at 
some convenient place, they must disguise and mask them- 
selves, and lie in wait for the post-chaise containing this girl 
and her servants, stop it, bind the servants, and carry otf the 
girl. This must be effected without bloodshed, and with as 
little violence as possible.” 

“ Difficult, my dear Mac ! very difficult ! But my own part 
seems to be very easy — only to send down these fellows, and, 
I su[)pose, be their paymaster.” 

“ Nay, not quite so easy as that, either, William. You and 
I must go down to Hounslow Heath, a little farther on to- 
wards Windsor, say in that piece of wood half a mile from the 
‘Magpie,’ and rescue this young lady from the ruffians.” 

“Rescue her? I don’t understand I Why in the world 
should she be carried off if we are to rescue her ?” 

“ Simply for that very purpose — that we may rescue her. 
This enamored nobleman of whom I speak is a man of the 
highest honor. He would never countenance violence. If 
your ruffians, for instance, after carrying off the beauty, were 
to carry her to him, she would be sent back in honor to her 
friends, and they would be transported for their pains. But 
if you and myself should be so fortunate as to rescue this 
beauty from the hands of the robbers, at a spot near the 
country house owned by this nobleman, and carry her to that 
house as a safe refuge for the night, there is no law of honor 
to prevent my lord from receiving her with the most exigent 
hospitality, and rewarding her gallant deliverers with princely 
munificence.” 

“With ‘princely munificence!’ I understand it all now, 
my dear Mac.” 

“ Pray understand no more than is necessary to carry out. 
our plans, which yor see h've only the least flavor of the 


244 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


spice of danj^er for your friends, and none at all for yourself. 
You have only to help me to rescue a young lady from the 
power of thieves, who will be instructed only to make a show 
of resistance. You will have all the glory and profit, and 
none of the danger.” 

“ Humph ! And this profit, dear Mac ?” 

“ Five hundred pounds, when the lady is safe at Howlet 
Close, the country-house of which I spoke.” 

'• I am your man, dear Mac. And now, as it is dark 
enough without for me to emerge from my inner obscurity, I 
will go out and beat up the necessary recruits. You can find 
me in this room again to-morrow morning, dear Mac, for, like 
ghosts that ‘visit the glimpses of the moon,’ I have to get 
back into my grave, this house, as soon as it is light without. 
Ah, Mac ! times have changed since you and I served to- 
gether in the 45th. I have gone — down, down, down ; you 
— up, up, up. I hide in the darkness of an old rookery ; you 
bask in the sunshine of a court.” 

“ It is your own fault, William. You have twice the 
genius that I have, but you are too effeminate, too much 
afraid of labor, pain, and danger. What you would do must 
be done in profound secrecy, and is done with so much caution 
and hesitation as to defeat its purpose. If you had an enemy, 
William, that you were obliged to get rid of, you would not 
challenge him and run him through the body, as I should, 
because you would not like to see his blood flow, and would 
very much dislike to have your own spilled. No, you would 
get rid of your enemy by administering to hini some slow, 
sweet poison, that should bring on a gentle decline, and easy, 
painless ^death. Nay, I could even imagine you sitting by 
the bed, smoothing the pillows, and soothing the last hours 
of that enemy whom you had so gently conducted to death— 
you are so benevolent as well as so effeminate.” 

The fair-haired man smiled softly and brightly, murmur- 
ing— 

“You were always a flatterer, dear Mac ; even before you 
dreamed of becoming a courtier.” 

They shook hands and parted. 

'‘A desperate crisis when a mar feels himself driven to an 


THE BRIDAL E VE. 


245 


act for which he does not know whether he shall be rewarded 
or reviled,” murmured the personage called Mac, as he de- 
scended the stairs. 

That same evening the Duchess of Beresleigh and her 
family were due at Lester House, were Lady Lester received 
her “dear five hundred friends.” They went early, intending 
to return early. And, again, the two young women — the an- 
ti]»odes of the social world — met, to be the rival stars of the 
assembly — Rosamond, Lady Etheridge of Swinburne, a snow- 
white, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and rosy-lipped beauty ; and 
Laura Elmer, the governess, a tall, dark, brilliant brunette 
and genius — the poetess of the day. 

The humble position of Miss Elmer was not known or sus- 
pected beyond the families of Beresleigh and Lester. 

Lady Lester, as I said, patronized Miss Elmer as the in- 
fluential friend of the Baroness of Etheridge, and society ac- 
cepted Miss Elmer at the hands of Lady Lester. 

That evening, as usual, the Duke of Beresleigh avoided 
Lady Etheridge, leaving her to be attended and followed by 
a troop of adorers, while he himself divided his attentions im- 
partially among the ladies of his acquaintance present. 

Rose was principally surrounded by aspiring bachelors and 
widowers, and their anxious mothers and sisters ; and Laura 
by old litterateurs, who were, with an odd mixture of curi- 
osity, jealousy, and admiration, welcoming a new-comer into 
their Olympian sphere, and by others who, without having 
any literary jealousy or matrimonial designs, simply delighted 
in the conversation of a brilliant woman, or were proud of a 
poetical celebrity. 

Sir Vincent Lester was present, but looking so ill and so 
pre- occupied, as to draw upon himself the notice and the 
softiy murmured criticisms of many present; until at length. 
Lady Lester, observing these things, went and whispered to 
him her advice that he should plead indisposition, and retire. 
And Sir Vincent, glad to escape, immediately followed heif 
counsel. 

Lady Lester, in watching the moodiness of Sir Vincent for 
the last few days, was in serious anxiety for bis health and 
reason ; and could find but one solution for the problem. 


246 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


“ He is in love with Miss Elmer. These dark'haired people 
are very uncertain, impulsive, and unreasonable, and difficult 
to be restrained by church or state ; I am sure, of the two 
evils, I would rather the girl should encourage him a little 
than that he should be looking and acting so strangely, as to 
draw upon himself the animadversions of all our friends,” she 
thought. 

While Lady Lester was thus seeking and not finding out 
the true explanation of the baronet’s uneasiness, her son Ruth- 
ven Lester, by patience and perseverance, in watching and 
availing himself of the first opportunity, had succeeded in de- 
taching Lady Etheridge from all others, and leading her into 
the recess of a bay window, where, with the confidence of a 
young man, on admirable terms with himself, he declared his 
passion, and made a formal offer of his hand. 

Lady Etheridge, inwardly amused at his self-conceit, thanked 
him for the honor he intended her; but begged leave to decline 
it. And when the young gentleman would have pressed his 
suit, she terminated the interview by rising and joining the 
company. 

And soon after the Duchess of Beresleigh ordered her car- 
riage, and they returned home. 

An engagement to a breakfast given by the Hon. Mrs. 
Hobart, at her villa, near Fulham, occupied the forenoon of 
the next day, so that it was between four and five o’clock that 
Lady Etheridge, accompanied only by her maid, entered her 
carriage to set out for Windsor. The ride that afternoon was 
through one of the most beautiful suburbs of the town, and 
up over the green meadows and shady groves bordering the 
river. It was quite dark when the carriage reached Houns- 
’.ow, and stopped to water the horses at the hotel. 

We wish to reach Windsor in good time to-night. Are 
the roads safe ?” asked the coachman. 

“Aye, aye, the roads be well enough; but there hasn’t been 
a travelling-carriage passed the heath for the last week that 
hasn’t been stopped by footpads. And a passil o’ very sus- 
picious-looking characters went by here a couple of hours ago. 
Y« u’d a deal better stop wh6re you are for the night,” answered 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 247 

the ostler, as he held a pail of water for the “ nigh” horse to 
drink. 

The latter part of this speech counteracted the former, for 
the coachman immediately came to the conclusion that there 
lurked an interested motive in this forewarning; so, instead 
of communicating it to Lady Etheridge, he replied — 

“ Oh ! I think we will try to get on, at least as far as the 
‘ Magpie,’ where we can sleep if necessary.” And gathering 
up his reins, he drove on. 

They were soon out upon the open heath, where nothing 
could be more weird, dreary, and desolate than the aspect of 
heaven and earth. The sky was overclouded, dark, and low- 
ering — not a single^tar was visible. The heath was bare, 
lone, and shadowy, from the murky centre to the obscured 
horizon. The only sound was that of the solitary carriage, 
as it rolled along the night road. Yet no sense of fear troubled 
the heart of Lady Etheridge ; she had heard none of the rumors 
cf outlying footpads, and was ignorant of the warning given 
Dy the people at Hounslow. She was lying back among the 
cushions in that dreamy, luxurious state, induced by being 
tarried along with an easy, rapid motion through the dark- 
less, when suddenly and silently the carriage was stopped 
and surrounded by dark, masked figures. Lady Etheridge, 
her heart paralyzed with extreme terror, sat transfixed and 
speechless, while her maid uttered scream upon scream. The 
same instant the coachman fired one shot from his double- 
barrelled pistol, and was about to fire another when he was 
mastered and disarmed. 

Yield quietly, and no harm shall befall you !” said one 
of the assailants, as they threwMown and gagged and bound 
the struggling man. 

The door of the carriage was then opened, and the inmates 
s.mmoned to come forth. 

Lady Etheridge, controlling her excessive terror, drew off 
her diamond ring, took off her watch and chain, drew out her 
purse, and offering them all to the men, besought them to set 
bet coachman at liberty, and let her proceed upon her 
journey. 

But the loud screams of the maid drowned at once her 
proffer ind their reply. 

I 


248 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


** Stop the mouth of that screeching vixen, and let us hear 
what the lady says,” commanded a leader among the 
assailants, and in another instant the poor screaming maid 
was seized, gagged, bound, and laid by the side of the help- 
less coachman, with the taunting words : 

“Misery loves company, my lass.” 

Lady Etheridge was again summoned to come forth ; but 
controlling her agitation, she said : 

“ Listen to me 1 Here is all the money and jewelry that I 
have about me ; take it all, free my servants, and let us 
pursue our journey.” 

“ Yes, my lady ; certainly, your ladyship,” said the leader, 
pocketing the offered valuables, and genjijy, but forcibly, lift- 
ing Lady Etheridge from the carriage. 

Resistance on her part was perfectly vain ; expostulation 
was equally useless. Half fainting with terror, she was 
borne along and forced into another close carriage, where she 
sank among the cushions, utterly overcome by terror. The 
carriage started, and she felt herself borne swiftly onward 
through the darkness — whither, she dared not even guess — 
she felt herself in the power of unscrujoulous ruffians, and 
she prayed for speedy death as for the least evil that could 
befall her. Intense terror takes no account of time. It 
seemed to her that she had been driven through the darkness 
for an eternity of anguish, when suddenly the gallop of 
horses was heard, a pistol was fired, torches blazed around 
the carriage, and a sonorous voice cried out : 

“ Stop, villains, on your lives !” 

At the same moment the heads of the horses were seized, 
and the driver, as if struck with a panic, sprang from the 
box and fled. 

“ This is deliverance 1 Oh, thank heaven I” cried Lady 
Etheridge, nearly swooning under the strong reaction of 
feeling. 

The carriage door was then opened, and a tall, dark, mili- 
tary-looking man, holding a torch in his hand, appeared, and, 
bowing respectfully, hoped that the young lady was quite 
uninjured. 

“ Oh, qui‘-e, I thank you,” replied Rose, still too strongly 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 249 

agitated to require an explanation of this unexpected 
deliverance. 

“ The miscreants have fled, young lady — even the fellow 
that was upon the box ; but if you will kindly tell us where 
you wish to be driven, I will gladly perform the duty of 3^our 
coachman.” 

“ W e were on our way to Windsor when we were stopped,” 
said Lady Etheridge. 

“Windsor I you are entirely out of the road, madam. 
Windsor lies some fifteen miles off to the left, and the cross- 
roads are difficult and dangerous travelling by night.” 

“ Then where is the Magpie Inn, which my unfortunate 
servants thought we qould reach by supper time ?” 

“ The Magpie Inn, madam, is on the London and Windsor 
road, full twenty miles from this spot.” 

“ Then I have been taken verj^ far out of my way,” said 
Lady Etheridge, in perplexity. 

“ Some eighteen miles, I should judge, madam.” 

“ Indeed I do not know what to do,” exclaimed Rose, in 
perplexity. Then, as a bright thought flashed through her 
brain, she said, “ Yes, late as it is, I will request you to drive 
me directly to the nearest justice of peace, if you know of 
one in the neighborhood.” 

“ Certainly, madam, under all the circumstances, the wisest 
plan ; *it is the very advice I should have offered had I dared 
to counsel,” said the stranger. 

“ You know of one, then ?” gladly inquired Rose. 

“ Yes, my lady ; there is Squire Howlet, of Howlet’s Close, 
about a mile from this spot ; he is a very zealous magistrate, 
and will not mind being knocked up in the night to receive 
such important information as of this daring violence.” 

“ I am the more anxious to see a magistrate as soon as pos- 
sible, that I may send assistance to my unfortunate servants,” 
said Lady Etheridge. 

“And — pardon me, where were they left, madam ?” 

“ In a thick wood, about the middle of the heath, and half 
way between the Hounslow Hotel and the Magpie Inn, as 
nearly as I can judge.” 

“Not dangerously wounded, I hope, my lady 


250 


THE BRIDAL EVE\ 


No, quite unhurt, I believe, but bound and gacrged, and 
desperately frightened ; besides being exposed to the damp 
night air that may of itself be the death of the woman. The 
coachman, I hope, is more inured to exposure.” 

“ We will drive immediately to the magistrate’s, and send 
assistance. I will take the box.” 

“ Will you first kindly inform me to whom I am so deeply 
indebted ?” inquired the lady. 

‘‘ My name, madam, is McCarthy — Colonel McCarthy, of the 
nth Infantry. My companion, here, is Captain Roberts. 1 
must entreat you to be so kind as to give him a seat in your 
carriage, as his testimony will be necessary before the magis- 
trate Roberts, come hither.” 

The person named had hitherto kept in the background, 
but now advanced to the side of the carriage. 

It happened that the face of Lady Etheridge was partly 
averted when Roberts came up. And Roberts no sooner 
caught a sight of her face than he started and retreated pre- 
cipitately. 

“ Excuse me one moment, madam,” said the man who 
called himself McCarthy, bowing and hurrying after Roberts. 

Lady Etheridge had seen nothing that passed in that 
moment in which her head was averted. 

McCarthy hurried after Roberts. 

“ Roberts, what was the matter ? you ran away as if from 
the face of a constable instead of that of a pretty woman. 
What was the meaning of it?” 

Roberts was too much agitated to answer at once, but 
after struggling violently with some strong inward emotion, 
he asked : 

“ Who is this lady, whom we are engaged in deceiving ?” 

“Nay, her name is a profound secret; but this I can tell 
you, besides being, as you see, the most beautiful woman ia 
London, she is a lady of rank and fortune.” 

“ Never !” exclaimed Roberts, emphatically. 

“But I assure you she is. Her high social position makes 
me, even me, tremble when I think of the violence that has 
been done her.” 

“Nonsense! Some pretty cottage-girl, protected by a 
duko and coveted by a prince, at best.’* 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 251 

“Hish I Confound you, how dare you let your tongue 
run 1 She is a lady of high rank, I tell you !” 

“ Oh.! a queen spelt with an ‘ a.’ ” 

“ Roberts, you provoke me ! She is the Baroness Ether- 
idge of Swinburne in her own right. There, now, confound 
you, if you ever breathe that, your tongue will have tied a 
knot around your neck.” 

'‘The Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne I AVhe-ewl” 
exclaimed the man Roberts, sinking into thought. 

“ And now. we must hurry back to the carriage. It is un- 
civil to leave the lady alone for a moment ; but first tell me 
why you ran away from her.” 

“Presently, presently, dear Mac. You must permit me 
to ride beside you on the box, first, because it will not be 
civil to thrust me in upon the lady ; and secondly, because I 
will not intrude upon her.” 

“ Durst not face her, you mean.” 

“As you please, dear Mac. You always had a finer 
appreciation of nice shades of meaning than myself. At any 
rate, it would not only be uncivil, but it would be unwise, 
for either of us to intrude upon the lady. She would be 
'wanting an explanation as to how we happened to come to 
her rescue, and neither you nor I have a story ready to tell.” 

“ There is some truth in what you advance, so you may as 
(veil mount by my side. Well, here we are at the carriage,” 
said McCarthy. 

Roberts pulled his collar up and bis hat down, to obscure 
his face, and keeping out of the range of view from the car 
riage windows, went round and mounted upon the box. 

McCarthy went up to the carriage window, bowed, and 
paid — 

“Captain Roberts will not intrude upon your ladyship,, 
ne will ride on the box beside me.” 

“I thank him very much,” replied Lady Etheridge, very 
glad to be left alone. 

McCarthy then mounted the box, and the carriage drove 
off. As they left the spot. Lady Etheridge caught a glimpse 
of two men leading away the horses that had brought these 
deli\i erer^ j and with a pang of undefinal ile dread, she thought 


252 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


they had very much the air of the ruffians who had first 
attacked her carriage. 

The carriage rolled rapidly on, and soon entered a deep 
wood. The sky had been overclouded all night, and now the 
rain began to fall. Lady Etheridge thought with anxiety of 
her servants, and longed to reach her journey’s end that she 
might send relief to them. In the thickest part of this wood 
the carriage at length drew up before an old-fashioned, 
gloomy-looking country-house. McCarthy got down and 
knocked. 

After a little delay, the door was opened by an old servant 
in a very suspicious state of readiness. 

“Well, Jones, your master has been in bed hours, of 
course ?” 

“Yes, please your honor.” 

“ And the housekeeper, of course ?” 

“Yes, please your honor.” 

“ Well, show us into the most comfortable room at hand, 
and then see the horses put away, after which come to me,” 
said McCarthy, and he helped Lady Etheridge to alight, and 
attended her into the house. 

The old servant preceded them into the drawing-room, and 
retired to attend to the horses. 

McCarthy seated Lady Etheridge upon a sofa, and inquired 
what refreshments she would be pleased to take. Rose 
declined any. Soon the old servant showed himself at the 
door and McCarthy went out to speak with him. After a 
few moments he returned to the drawing-room, and going to 
Lady Etheridge, said — 

“ Mr. Howlet is ill, and must not be disturbed to-night. 
In the morning, however, we can have an interview with 
him. In the meantime the housekeeper is getting up and 
will attend to all your comforts for the night.” 

“ I feel very grateful ; but, oh, my poor coachman and 
maid exposed to this rain storm I” exclaimed Rose, sorrow- 
fully. 

“ Be comforted, madam ; it is most probable that before 
this hour some passenger upon that frequented road has dis- 
covemd and released them; indeed, I think i1 quite certain 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


253 


tt be so, because a rumor was rife along the road that a car- 
riage had been waylaid and robbed, and a lady had been 
carried off. It was that rumor that led us to challenge the 
suspicious-looking vehicle in which we found your ladyship 
% captive. Now, how could such a rumor have got afloat so 
eoon, if your servants had not been discovered and released 
inquired McCarthy, ingeniously. 

“ Oh ! Heaven grant that they may be,” said Lady Ether- 
idge, fervently. 

The appearance of the housekeeper now interrupted the 
conversation. She was a tall, stout, coarse, and florid woman, 
of fifty years of age, whose scarred face and over-dressed form 
did not add to the respectability of her office. 

“ I very much regret that your master is too ill to rise. I 
commend this lady to your care, and hope you will make her 
comfortable.” 

“ I shall endeavor to do so. Madam, would you choose 
refreshments before retiring ?” said Mrs. Thomas, addressing 
Lady Etheridge. 

“ No, I thank you, I need rest more than any thing else,” 
replied her ladyship. 

“ Then I will show you at once to your room,” said Mrs. 
Thomas, lighting a bed-room candle, and leading the way. 

Lady Etheridge bowed to Colonel McCarthy, and followed 
the housekeeper from the drawing-room. 

They passed up a flight of broad stairs, along several in- 
tricate passages, and finally entered a large, sombre chamber, 
with the windows and the heavy, four-post bedstead thickly 
curtained with dark damask. ^ 

The housekeeper sat the candle upon the mantelpiece, laid 
out a night-dress, and wishing the guest a pleasant night’s 
repose, withdrew from the room. 

But weary and exhausted as she was, Lady Etheridge was 
still too excited to think of sleep. She needed calmly to 
review all that had happened during the night in order to 
understand it. So, dressed as she was, she threw herself 
into an arm-chair simply to rest. Soon the disturbed house- 
hold seemed to have sunk into perfect repose. The stillness 
of tip e hour was profound, and the silence and the strangeness 


254 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


seemed to effect her with an undefinahle apprehension. She 
remembered that she had not fastened the door of her cham- 
ber after the housekeeper, and she arose and locked it, and 
then returned to her chair. The candle burned low, and the 
shadows of the vast room grew deeper and darker. In her 
excited revery, her eyes were fixed absently upon the door 
of a closet, on the left of the fire-place. While gazing ab- 
stractedly upon this door, it seemed to move a little outward, 
and though she believed that her senses had deceived her, 
she shuddered with a vague fear, and kept her eyes fixed 
upon the door. It swung half open ; she hoped the ‘motion 
might have been caused by the wind, yet her heart stood still 
in doubt and terror — only for a moment, when the figure of a 
tall, stout man, wrapped in the voluminous folds of a black 
cloak, and having his face covered with a black mask, emerged 
from the closet, and advanced into the room. 

Lady Etheridge shrieked, and started towards the door 
with the impulse of flying. 

V “Be not frightened; I will not harm you,” said the intruder 
in a low whisper, as he glided to the door, and standing be- 
fore it, intercepted her passage. 

“I am betrayed I” grasped Lady Etheridge, in a dying 
voice, as she dropped, half-fainting, into her chair. 

“You are betrayed; but not by me, who would save you,” 
said the stranger, in the same low whisper. 

“In the name of heaven, who are you 

“A friend, who would rescue you from a danger worse 
than death.” 

“ Why do you intrude upon my privacy at this hour ?” 

“ To warn you as I must ; to save you if I may I” said the 
stranger, in the same low, impressive whisper in which he 
had spoken from the first. 

“ I am in the house of a magistrate — I will summpn 
assistance !” cried Rose, in terror, as she rushed from her 
chair. 

“ This chamber is provided with no bell-ropes ; and it is, 
besides, far removed from the inhabited parts of the house. 
But do not be alarmed ; I will advance no nearer to you than 
I am now. Listen to me : You said that you were in the 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


256 


house of a magistrate. You are deceived. You are in a 
house which no honorable woman ever entered and departed 
from without leaving her honor behind.” 

“ Oh, heaven of heavens ! what shall I do ? where can 1 
turn ? whom can I trust ?” exclaimed Rose, in the extremity 
of distress. 

“ Trust me. We are nearer London than you have been 
led to suppose. I will conduct you safely from this house, 
and take you to that of your friend, the Duchess of Beres- 
leigh.” 

“ You know me then 

“ Yes, Lady Etheridge I yes. Rose Elmer I” 

“And who are you ?” 

“ One who, as I said before, is prepared to rescue you from 
a danger worse than death. I repeat that you are in a 
house whence no woman ever departed without leaving her 
honor behind, but from which I am willing to deliver you 
honorably. I can say no more,” 

“ But, oh heaven, how shall I trust you ?” 

^ “ Lady Etheridge, Rose Elmer, do you remember a scene, 
in which you acted a part, in the village church of Swinburne, 
on the first of July, some four years since ?” said the 
stranger, in a low, significant tone. 

^ “ Ha ! oh, heaven I who are you that tell me of that ?” 
gasped Rose, turning pale as death. 

“ I am one who, by my perfect knowledge of all that tran- 
spired in that church, adjure you to arise and follow me.” 

“ Man or demon, I will not I Although you may know 
the events of that fatal day to which you allude, death has 
cancelled that dreadful deed ; I have nothing to regret or 
fearl” 

“ Ha 1 have you not ?” 

“ No ; nothing to fear but you I I do not believe the tale 
that you havetbeen telling me. I shall not leave this house 
to trust myself with a stranger. I shall remain where I am, 
and use this if you advance one step towards me!” said 
Rose, drawing a penknife from her pocket, and opening th« 
largest blade. 

“ Oh, then, if you will not be saved willingly, you must by 


266 THE BRIDAL EVE. 

force. There is no more time to be lost in persuasion,” said 
the intruder, and while he spoke he took off his cloak, and 
throwing it over her head quick as lightning, stifled her cries, 
muffled her form, and raising her in his powerful arms, bore 
her from the room, through the intricate passages, down the 
stairs, and to the great front door, which it seemed ho had 
already unbarred and unlocked in readiness for his egress. 

A cab stood in the deep shadow of the trees before the 
house. He forced his half-suffocated burthen into the vehicle, 
jumped in by her side, and immediately gave the order to 
drive on. They drove swiftly through the woods. When 
they had reached the heath beyond, the stranger threw the 
cloak a little back from the face of Rose, to give her air, at 
the same lime saying — 

“ Scream now. if it will be any relief to you, my dear ; 
scream as much as you -please ; nobody can hear !” 

‘‘ Oh, villain ! villain ! heaven will send me deliverance,” 
replied Rose, in whom violent indignation had conquered 
terror. 

“ My dear, you will believe in me, and thank me, when I 
set you down safely at Beresleigh House.” 

“ Yes, when you do, miscreant I You only tell me this 
to calm my resistance : to make it easier and safer for you 
to caiT}^ me off. Shame on you, coward, to act with this 
violence towards a defenceless girl ! But do not hope to 
escape detection and punishment. Since you know my 
name and rank, you know that I am not one to disappear 
without inquiry and search. We shall be pursued ; you will 
be discovered, and punished with death, as you deserve !” 

“You think so, my dear; but in another hour you will 
have a better opinion of me. I offer you no violence, except 
to withdraw you from a scene of danger — why can you not 
trust in me?” asked the stranger, in the cool manner, and 
with the low, smooth tone in wlfiich he had conducted the 
whole interview. 

“ Why can I not trust you, wretch ?” exclaimed Rose, who 
found a sort of comfort and courage in the sound of her own 
voice, “ because I have no earthly reason to trust, but every 
reason to cZis-trust I Who are you ? What motive can you, 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


257 


an entire stranger, have for delivering me from ‘ a house of 
danger,’ as you call the safe refuge whence you tore me? 
Why do you keep your form muffled, and your face masked, 
and why do you speak in a low whisper, and take every other 
precaution to conceal your identity, so as to make it impossi- 
ble that I should ever recognize you again ? Why do you do 
these things if you are an honest man, and your purposes are 
good ?” 

“ Perhaps, because those from whom T save you have the 
power to injure me if they find me out. As to my motive 
for befriending you, that is my own secret ; ‘ take the goods 
the gods provide,’ without ungrateful questioning; but this 
one thing I will tell you, that there is enough of human 
selfishess in the motive to account for the act if you knew 
all.” 

“I will not trust- you. I will appeal to the cabman. He ^ 
may be an honest man. At any rate, he dare not help you 
to carry me off against my will,” cried Rose, desperately. 

“ Do, my dear ; appeal to the man,” murmured the stranger, 
in smooth irony. 

Rose beat loudly upon the front of the carriage, crying — 

“ Cabman I cabman. Stop I stop I I command you I You 
are committing a felony, for which you will be transported I , 
You are helping a ruffian in a case of abduction !” 

The cabman, at the first sound of the noise, stopped the 
carriage, and listened ; but when he distinguished the words, 
he replied, in a soothing voice — 

“ Yes, mum ; in course ; just so, mum. Compose your 
narves, mum, do,” and drove on. 

And though Rose continued to beat upon the front of the 
carriage, and to call loudly, she could make no further im- 
pression upon the obtuse senses of the man, who continued 
stolidly silent and swiftly driving on. 

“Scream and bang away, my dear. It relieves you, and 
does me no harm,” observed her companion, in smooth irony. 

Rose sank back exhausted, and burst into a passion of 
tears. 

When she recovered from this storm of sobbing and weep- 
ing she looked out of the side window, and saw that day was 

16 


258 


THE BRIDAL EYE. 


dawning. They were now rolling rapidly along the high 
road over the heath. The whole face of the country was 
lonely, with that depth of loneliness only to be seen just at 
the dawn of day. The latest passengers had passed away, 
the earliest had not come. The road before them stretched 
silent and solitary over the murky shadows of the heath. 
Suddenly, as she gazed hopelessly upon this scene — oh, sight 
of joy I — she perceived a post-chaise containing two persons 
just appearing at the top of the hill, and driving silently to- 
wards them. Her companion, sitting quietly, had not seen 
the approaching vehicle. Rose took her resolution, and acted 
upon it instantly. Dashing open the window nearest to her, 
she thrust her head out, and cried — 

“ Help I help I help I help, for the love of heaven I” 

The stranger started up with a half-suppressed oath, seized 
« and dragged her back, and muffling her head in his cloak, 
stifled her cries. 

It was too late. Her voice had been heard. The other 
carriages rushed down upon them. The two vehicles met 
almost in a collision. Two men from the chaise jumped out 
and seized the heads of the horses. The -cab stopped. 

Seeing this, the man within dashed open the door on his 
side, sprang from the carriage, knocked down the post-boy 
who stood in his way, and struck straight across the heath, 
disappearing in a thicket a few hundred yards off. 

Rose, left alone in the carriage, struggled to disembarrass 
herself of the heavy folds of the cloak that had been thrown 
over her head. She had just succeeded in freeing herself 
when she heard some one approach the window, and a rich, 
manly voice say — 

“ You are perfectly safe now, dear madam. Compose your- 
self, and in a few moments we shall offer you the rest and 
refreshment you so much need.’^ 

“ The Duke of Beresleigh I” exclaimed Lady Etheridge iiv 
glad surprise, as she turned towards the window at which he 
stood. 

“ Yes, Lady Etheridge,” he replied, entering the cab. 

“ Oh, heaven be praised I What an escape I have had 1 
But oh, what fortunate circumstance was it that sent you to 
my aid ? It seems wonderful.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


269 


^‘No; it is very natural, my dear Lady Etheridge. An 
attack like that made upon your carriage could not for an 
nour remain a secret. A few minutes after your coach had 
been stopped and robbed, and you had been carried off, and 
your servants left gagged and bound upon the highway, they 
were found by some countrymen returning home from a frolic. 
As soon as they were set at liberty, 'they related all the par- 
ticulars of the robbery and abduction. They were taken to 
the Magpie. Information was given to the authorities, and 
the whole constabulary force of the neighborhood was raised 
for the apprehension of the ruffians. A man, mounted on a 
swift horse, brought the intelligence to Beresleigh about mid« 
night. I ordered post-horses, and taking an officer with me, 
started at once for the Magpie Inn, which seemed to be the 
centre of the investigation. I need not say that I was on my 
way thither when I met the cab that was bearing you away. 
And now. Lady Etheridge, pray excuse me a few moments. 
The principal miscreant has fled, but I must see to the 
security of the cabman, who, if he is not an accomplice, will 
be useful as a witness.’’ 

Then, with a bow, the duke left the cab and beckoned the 
officer, who now approached, with the cabman in custody. 

The prisoner looked excessively frightened, and, without 
waiting to be questioned, began his defence : 

“ Please, your lordship, I was not i’ fau’t. The gent as 
hen gaged my cab tole me ’ow ’e ’ad a crazy ’oman to carry 
hofif to the mad-’ouse, and ’ow ’e wanted to take ’er away in 
the night, to save hexposing of ’er infirmities ; and when ’e 
brought ’er and put ’er hinto the carriage I ’ad no suspicions ; 
and when she growed wiolent I thought ’ow it was nateral, 
seeing she was mad, and I agreed to hall she said, and tried 
to soothe ’er down like — didn’t I now, my lady ?” he con- 
cluded, appealing lugubriously to Lady Etheridge. 

“ I think it very likely that he speaks the truth,” said her 
ladyship. 

“ I trust that you will prove to have been a dupe rather 
than an accomplice. Did you know the person who engaged 
you in this nefarious business ?” inquired the duke. 

Never set heyes on ’im before, your grace.” 


260 


THE BRIDA.L EVE. 


Did not the fact of his being masked excite jour sus- 
picions as to the propriety of his actions 

“No, your lordship’s grace; because ’e said ’ow ’e wore 
the mask on account of the mad lady, ’o could not a bear the 
sight of ’im, though ’e was ’er brother, w’ich we know as mad 
folks hoflfen take a misliking agin their friends.” 

“Was he masked when he came to you to engage the cab?’^ 
“No, your grace’s lordship — I beg pardon — I mean your 
lordship’s grace, ’e ’adn’t no mask hon when ’e hengaged me.’^ 
“What sort of a looking man was he, then ?” 

“A tall, stoutish, fair complected man, with light ’air and 
whiskers ; a sweet-spoken gent, with most the beautifullest 
smile as hever I see ; a gent as no one would think any hill 
on. ’E spoke as would ha’ made the tears run down your 
lordship’s grace’s cheek hof ’is poor mad sister. ’Ow could I 
know ’e was a deceiving hof me, and a leading hof me hastray 
Farther questioning on the part of the duke led to no fur- 
ther information, and his grace said : 

“You will have to go with us, and be examined by a mag- 
istrate, who is now at the Magpie, collecting evidence. Re- 
sume your seat on the box, and drive as quickly as possible 
to the Magpie Inn.” 

The man bowed, and went to obey, when the officer re- 
spectfully touching his hat, said : 

“ I beg your grace’s pardon, but I think I can identify the 
man of whom the cabman speaks as a desperate person, of 
whom the constables have long been in search.” 

“You think so, from such a very general description as 
that of ‘ a tall, stoutish, light-complected gent ?’ Why, there 
are ten thousand men in London to suit that description. It 
might be you for instance.” 

“ Yes, your grace, that general description might suit, 
as you say, ten thousand men in town ; but the particular 
description, ‘agent with very light ’air and whiskers, a sweet- 
spoken gent, with the most beautifullest smile as hever I see,^ 
and the rest of it taken together, could suit only Roberts,’^ 
said the officer, respectfully. 

“And who is Roberts ?” 

Your grace never heard of him by that name, but your 


THE B RIDAL EVE. 


261 


grace will know him better as the officer stooped and 

whispered a name, at which the cheek of the duke grew pale 
with horror. 

“ No, it cannot be ! has he ventured back ?” 

“ Yes, your grace, he has been seen.” 

What fatal, what frenzied infatuation ! Surely Provi- 
dence, to bring him to justice, has smitten him with a total 
blindness to consequences. And is it possible that there is a 
place, the most abandoned in London, that would shelter that 
monster ?” 

“Your grace, the man and his unnatural crime are well 
nigh forgotten, except by those concerned. And for the rest, 
his wonderful power of fascination subdues man, woman, and 
child.” 

“ Oh 1 one would think that the very land on which he 
stood would rise with a great painful heave and cast him off ” 

“Be sure, your grace, he cannot long elude justice ; his fate 
has sent him to England.” 

The Duke of Beresleigh seemed so painfully interested as 
almost to have forgotten that Lady Etheridge was half faint- 
ing from need of food and rest ; but suddenly arousing him- 
self, he re-entered the cab, and gave the order to drive on. 

A half hour’s rapid drive brought them to the Magpie, 
where a group of idlers, brought together by the news of the 
robbery and abduction, were collected. 

The Duke of Beresleigh handed Lady Etheridge out and 
hurried her at once into the best parlor, where he placed her 
in charge of the landlady. The duke then repaired to another 
room where the magistrate was sitting, and where the cab- 
man was already brought before him to give in his testimony. 
The man could only repeat what he had already told the duke, 
and so, when his words had been duly taken down in writing, 
he was set at liberty. The duke considerately paid him for 
his whole night’s services, and the poor fellow, elated at his 
double escape from duration and loss, put up his horse and 
went into the tap-room to invest a portion of his funds in a 
pot of ale and a pound of beef, and to relate his wonderful 
adventures to a group of attentive countrymen. But no oc- 
casion had Jobson to spend his money. His curious and ad- 


862 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


miring audience insisted upon “ standing' something,” and 
entertained their story-teller with so much good-will that at 
the end of two hours, Jobson was fain to lie down and sleep 
off the combined effects of the ale and fatigue. 

Meanwhile, Lady Etheridge having partaken of a slight 
repast and reposed herself upon a sofa for half an hour, arose 
and gave audience to the Duke of Beresleigh and the magis- 
trate, who watted on her there, to receive her statement. 

AVhen she had circumstantially detailed all that had hap- 
pened to her, the magistrate expressed his astonishment at 
events so much more complicated than had been suspected. 

That the pretended deliverers were in league with the first 
assailants could not be doubted. But what the motive of the 
masked man could have been in carrying her off from the 
house in the wood could not be surmised. 

The magistrate having collected all the evidence possible 
from all the parties, took leave and withdrew. 

Post-horses were ordered, and Lady Etheridge, accom- 
panied by the Duke of Beresleigh, and attended by her ser 
vant, returned to London. 

They reached Beresleigh House at nightfall. 

Lady Etheridge at once retired to bed to seek the unintei 
rupted rest she so much required. And the duke related to 
his mother all the particulars of the abduction and the rescue. 

Feeling sure that Rose would require repose for many days, 
the duchess addressed a respectful letter to the queen, explain- 
ing the cause that inevitably delayed the honor Lady Ether- 
idge desired of immediately waiting upon her majesty. 


TH E BRIDAL EVE. 


263 


CHAPTER XXL 

SECOND LOVE. 


A year age , a year ago, 

I thought my heart so cold and still, 

That love it never more would know : 

That withering time, and sorrow’s chill. 

Had frozen all its earlier glow. 

A year ago, a year ago, 

I said I ne’er should love again ; 

But then 1 had not seen thee — Lord Strangford. 


Lady Etheridge remained quietly at home for a few days, 
neither making nor receiving visits. 

Since the night of the abduction and rescue, no further 
intelligence had been gained of the perpetrators of the 
violence. 

The Duke of Beresleigh’s manner to Lady Etheridge was 
now so full of reverential tenderness that her ladyship wa.« 
not' surprised, when, seated in her boudoir one morning, she 
was interrupted by the entrance of her maid, with the 
ivords : 

“ My lady, his grace the duke, sends his respects, and de- 
dres to know if your ladyship is disengaged and will 
receive him !” 

“ Certainly, show his grace in,’’ replied Lady Etheridge, 
laying aside her book, and beginning to tremble with instinc- 
tive apprehension of the scene that was coming. 

The duke entered. Lady Etheridge rose to receive him, 
pointed to a chair, and resumed her own seat. 

“ I hope I find you quite recovered from the effects of 
your late agitation ?” said the duke, as he seated himself 
near her. 

“ Quite, I thank you. Xo effect remains but the pleasant 
one of a lively gratitude to my preserver,” replied R<^se, in 
a low voice. 

“ There was nothing to be grateful for. Would indeed 
that I could be as happy as to merit your — I dare not say 
gratitude, but — favor,” he paused in that embarrassmeni that 
always attend the avowal of a deep love. 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


264 


“ I feel that I have much, very much to be grateful for to 
all your grace’s Camily, who were very kind to me while yet 
my prospects were very t|uestionable. And as tor the events 
of that fearful night, though they shook me so much, I would 
go through all that agony of terror again for the compensa- 
tion it has brought me in the returning kindness of dear 
friends,” said Rose, in a voice vibrating with her soul’s deep 
emotion, and with her blue eyes full of tears. 

Her words, her looks, her tones, betraying the profound 
love of her own pure heart, thrilled him to the very depths 
of his soul. He could have thrown himself at her feet and 
covered her hands with passionate kisses ; and though he 
restrained himself, his whole frame shook, and his voic e 
trembled with the curbed passion of his soul, as he took her 
band, and said : 

“Lady Etheridge, you grievously misunderstand me if 
you suppose that since those days of our first acquaintance 
at Befesleigh Court, my heart has changed except in loving 
you more and more deeply day by day. Rose, dear Rose I 
I was a poor man, with only a barren title and a debt- 
encumbered property to offer you. You were an inexperi- 
enced country-girl, scarcely conscious of your advantages as 
the heiress of one of the oldest baronies and largest fortunes 
in England. I knew that were you once introduced into 
society, your beauty, rank, and wealth would afford you the 
widest field of choice among the most distinguished suitors, 
who would be sure to lay their titles and their fortunes at 
your feet. You had no worldly father or managing mother 
to warn you of these things. Should 1, then, take advantage 
of your isolation and inexperience to thrust myself between 
you and your most brilliant prospects ? No, Rose, no ; I 
saw you launched upon the sea of fashion, saw you courted 
by the most illustrious parties in the kingdom.; and with a 
heart wasting for your love, I kept aloof, for. Rose, I loved 
you so truly that 1 was willing to sacrifice my own happiness 
for your welfare ; and no man truly loves a woman who is 
not willing to do likewise if necessary.” He paused from 
deep emotion, and Rose, with her eyes full of tears, faltered 
forth tke words : 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


265 


Oh, it was very generous, very noble ; but if you had 
bad more simple faith in a woman’s heart, you would have 
saved us both some months of misunderstanding and 
pain.” 

“ Nay, sweet one, had I prematurely thrust myself upon 
your favor, 1 should have reproached myself for such 
egotistical precipitancy, and perhaps been haunted by the 
thought that I had intervened between you and a more bril- 
liant destiny. But now that I have observed you through 
the season, and seen you discourage the advances of those 
whom the dowagers call ‘the most desirable parties in town,’ 
now, Rose,^I venture, with a free conscience, to lay my poor 
strawberry leaves at your feet.” 

For all answer. Rose silently placed her hand in his. He 
pressed that fair little hand to his lips, saying : 

“And now, dear Rose, I will seek my mother and make 
her happy by sending her to embrace her daughter-in-law.” 

“ No, not yet,” murmured Rose, in a faint voice. 

“ Not yet, my love ; what means my Rose ?” 

“ I have shown you my heart, you know that it is all your 
own, and since that knowledge makes you happier, I do not 
regret that you possess it, but — ” 

She paused in the most painful embarrassment. 

“ But what, sweet Rose ?” 

“ You do not know upon what an obscure brow it is that 
you offer to place the ducal coronet of Beresleigh.” 

“ I do not understand you, dear Rose.” 

“Oh,” she broke forth vehemently, “I would the play 
were over.” 

Her lover looked at her with a painful perplexity. She 
went on : 

“ The world calls me Lady Etheridge of Swinburne, but I 
am no more Baroness Etheridge than I am the Empress 
Catharine of Russia.” 

“ My dear Rose.” 

I am not ; I feel that I am not.” 

“ But the House of Lords ” 

“ Has made a mistake ; not the first time the highest tri> 
bunal in +be realm ha» done so.” 


m 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Lady Etheridge, the chain of evidence that established 
vour rights was complete even to the satisfaction of the most 
conservative of those old peers. What reason have youthen, 
to think tha*t a mistake has been made 

“No external reason perhaps, but a deep-seated internal con- 
viction that all this delusive glory of mine is a mere passing 
pageant. I am but a poor little robin in the plumage of a glori- 
ous parro^ue^/e, or a poor deer in the skin of a lioness; or a little 
player baroness who must sustain her part as well as she can 
until the play is done, and then sink into her real insignifi- 
cance. But oh, what a heavy payment fate may exact for 
this masquerade with which she is amusing me. I can fancy 
how the world that offers me nothing but adulation now, 
will then follow my vanishing form with laughter and scorn- 
ing. Some, I know, would pity the poor girl who had been 
made so great a fool of by fortune.” 

“ Oh, Rose, could it be as j^ur morbid imagination for- 
bodes, could you be deprived of all the advantageous attrib- 
utes of rank and wealth, believe it, to me you would ever be 
the same — ever the dearest treasure of my life,” said the duke, 
earnestly. ' ' 

“ It will be as I said. I shall be plucked of all my bor- 
rowed plumage ; stripped of ^11 my false splendor ; I shall be 
again the poor little Rose of former days, only a little wiser 
and sadder for my experience of these. I deem it necessary 
to tell you of this strong conviction of mine with all the em- 
phasis of swearing to a fact, so that you may know for a 
certainty that you are offering your ducal coronet not to the 
Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne, but to a poor cottage-girl 
who is forced to play that part for a season, and plays it ill 
enough, no doubt.” 

“And even if this were so, nay, grant for a moment that it 
is so, that you are the humble village-maiden that you seemed 
a year ago, I tell you that I love and honor you beyond all 
other creatures, I entreat you to be my wife, and assure you 
that your acceptance of my suit will make me the happiest, 
as your rejection cf it would leave me the most miserable 
among men. Now dearest, give me your hand in token that 
you are mine.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


267 


“ Not yet !” 

“ Not yet I What now, dearest Rose 

“ There are other things yet that you must hear before com 
mitting yourself.” 

“What can they be? Speak, dear Rose, for I do not un- 
derstaud to what you allude, and I am certain only of one 
thing, that nothing you, have to tell shall separate us. You 
are mine only, and forever.” 

“ Listen first. Supposing me to be that humble cottage- 
girl that I was a year ago, and that I may be again a year 
hence ; and granting that, as such, you thought me not un- 
worthy to share your rank, still you would like to think that 
you had won the first love of my heart, for every man delights 
in believing that he possesses the first, as well as the only 
love, of the maiden whom he seeks to make his wife. Is it 
not so ?” 

“ Rose, in the name of Heaven, what mean you ?” 

“That you, George, Duke of Beresleigh, had not the first 
love of the poor girl whom you ask to become your wife.” 

“ Rose ! Good Heaven, what is this you are about to tell 
me ?” 

“ That poor Rose’s heart was lost and won long before she 
knew the Duke of Beresleigh.” 

“ Oh, girl, girl 1 how cruelly you have trifled with my hap- 
piness and your own peace I You love another !” exclaimed 
the duke, starting to his feet in great agitation. 

“ No, no, you mistake me — widely mistake me. I do not 
love another ; that great delusion is long since quite over,’' 
said Rose, blushing at her own vehemence. 

“ Explain, explain, in the name of Heaven, explain 1” cried 
her lover, hastily returning to his seat. 

“ Listen, then, and oh, listen patiently. Your agitation 
frightens and unnerves me,” faltered Rose. 

“ Forgive me, dearest ; I will be calm,” replied her lover, 
controlling himself by an effort. j 

“ Two years ago, when I was a poor village-girl, living 
with my reputed mother, there came a stranger to our village. 
He was handsome, accomplished, and very fascinating. Un- 
der the name of William Lovel, he sought and made my ae- 


268 


THE BEIDA L EVE. 


quaintance. I was a romantic dreamer, longing for a higher, 
freer, and more beautiful life than our sordid circumstances per- 
mitted. William Lovel appeared to me to be the embodiment 
of perfect beauty, wisdom, and goodness — the being destined 
to lead me up to that higher life to which I aspired.” 

‘‘ Oh, heaven and earth, the old story — it is the old story/’ 
groaned the duke. 

“ He lent me books, he gave me instruction, he cultivated 
my taste in art and literature, he sought and won my love — 
nay, do not start and frown — he won my love — no more.” 

“ Go on, go on.” 

“ You know the story of the ex-Baroness Etheridge, and 
know how I, unworthy that I was, arose upon that noble 
lady’s fall.” 

“ Yes, yes, dearest, I know the particulars of that event ; 
proceed, proceed.” 

“ It was while this noble lady was still called the Baroness 
Etheridge, and upon the day preceding that fixed for her 
wedding with Mr. Albert Hastings, that William Lovel came 
down to our village. He sought an interview with me, and 
persuaded me, weak girl that I was, to consent to a private 
marriage.” 

“And you consented ? Unhappy girl I” 

“ Yes, I consented — weakly and wickedly consented — to 
marry him clandestinely that same evening.” 

“ Unfortunate child. Oh, Rose 1 Rose I” 

“ Bear with me. I consented, but I was providentially 
saved from the consummation of that folly, and, at the same 
time, forever cured of my dangerous infatuation.” 

“ Thank Heaven for that. Go on — go on.” 

“ That same afternoon upon which I promised to meet him 
at a later hour to be married, I was sent by my poor foster- 
mother with her last message to Lady Etheridge, at Swin- 
burne Castle. I was shown up into the library where the lady 
sat, with the title-deeds of the Swinburne estates before her, 
waiting for the arrival of her betrothed husband, Albert 
Hastings, that she might put them in his hands, and endow 
him with the whole property. While I was still with the 
lady, the expected vifitor entered, and In Albert Hastings^ 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 269 

the betrothed husband of Lady Etheridge, I recognized Wil- 
liam Love], my lover.” 

“ Good heaven I” 

“ I was saved 1 My misplaced love died hard, but it did 
die. The man who could at the same time deceive the noble 
lady who endowed him with her princely fortune, and the 
humble maiden who gave him her whole heart- -the man who 
could deliberately plan the destruction of that confiding 
maiden upon the very eve of his marriage with that high- 
Bouled lady, was unworthy of regret, unworthy of resentment, 
unworthy of every thing except total oblivion,” said Rose, 
with a beautiful and majestic expression. 

“ Give me your dear hand ! Rose, you are an angel.” 

Rose shook her head with a sad smile, and said : 

“There never was a wmman wnth more antecedents to ac- 
knowledge than L There is yet another event that I must 
make known to you — an event connected with my earlier 
youth.” 

“ What ! another secret, dear Rose ! a third secret ?” 

“A third secret !” 

“ I wdll not hear it ! Only assure me that your hand and 
heart are now perfectly free, and that you are willing to be- 
stow them upon my unworthy self, and I shall be happy.” 

“My hand and heart are free, and they are yours if you 
want them ; yet you should know this third secret of my life.” 

“I will not hear it! Dear Rose, you are mine as I am 
yours ! Is it not so ?” 

For all answer she placed her hand in his. 

He pressed that small fair hand fervently to his lips. 

“And yet I would that you would hear what I have yet to 
tell you,” she said very earnestly. 

“ No more, dear girl, no more 1 Thus to put you into the 
confessional were unmanly and ungenerous. What you 
have already told me is enough to prove the candor and 
purity of your heart. Say only that you are mine ! Say it, 
dear Rose.” 

“ I am yours.” 

Tke same day the Duchess of Beresleigh was informed of 


270 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


the engagement, and a few days after, the betrothal of the 
Duke of Beresleigh to the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne 
was announced to the world. 


CHAPTEB, XXII. 

THE INTRIGUER FOILED. 


When lovely Hope, with seraph power, 
Has filled the cup of bliss, 

Too oft in unexpected hour, 

We all its pleasures miss. 

For when the glitterino; cup we win, 

And fondly think we’ve pleasure found, 
Fell disappointment rushes in. 

To dash it to the ground. 


The announcement of the betrothal of the Dukc of Beres- 
leigh and the Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne surprised no 
one, for, as usual,' the world knew all about the affair long 
before the parties most concerned knew any thing of it. 

Only Colonel Hastings was astonished, and Mr. Albert 
Hastings shocked. 

“ I thought she would have preferred to exercise her power 
a little longer before surrendering her liberty,” said Colonel 
Hastings, musingly. 

“ I hoped she would not soon forget. I always loved that 
girl, and I believe that she loved me. I did not think that 
any woman’s love could have expired so soon,”" said Mr. 
Hastings, indignantly. 

“Ah, my dear fellow, her passion did not go into a gentle 
decline in the natural way of such transitory feelings, it was 
put to a violent death !” said the Colonel, with a shrug. 

“ Yes ; by the shock she received in recognizing me at the 
castle. Well, it is all over now,” sighed Albert Hastings. 

“ Pho 1 if there is one thing in this w’orld more tiresome 
than another, it s to be obliged to repeat the same things 
over aifd over again to people upon whom you can make no 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


271 


Bort of impression. Have I not told you that if, instead of 
the Duke of Beresleigh, it were a royal duke to whom she 
was contracted, I would, with a word, break the marriage off?” 

Albert Hastings looked at his worthy father in incredulous 
astonishment. 

“ Yes — you doubt me ; but wait a few days, and see if you 
do not have the breaking off of this intended marriage as 
publicly announced as its contraction was. I shall call upon 
Lady Etheridge to-day.” 

This conversation took place in the breakfast-parlor at 
Hastings House, as the father and son sat over their coffee 
and muffins. 

Colonel Hastings was as good as his word, and in the 
course of the same day presented himself at Beresleigh 
House, and sent in his card, with a request to see Lady 
Etheridge. 

He received the answer that Lady Etheridge was engaged, 
and could not have the honor of seeing Colonel Hastings. 

This was just what he had expected ; so he went into a 
neighboring reading-room, whence he addressed a note to 
Lady Etheridge, to the effect that he wished to see her upon 
matters of the utmost importance, concerning herself mostly. 

To this note he received an answer that any matters which 
Colonel Hastings had to communicate to Lady Etheridge 
must be addressed to her ladyship’s solicitor. 

Colonel Hastings was baffled for the time. He permitted 
a day to pass, and then addressed the following note to Lady 
Etheridge ; 

“Hastings House, Sept . 12 ^/?., 18 — . 

“Madam: — That which -I have to communicate to your 
ladyship is a matter which you may not like to have confided 
even to your own solicitor, and which can be communicated 
to your ladyship alone. Abiding your ladyship’s orders to 
wait upon you, I have the honor to be, madam, your obedient 
servant, William Henry Hastings.” 

Rose took this note immediately to the duchess, who read 
it and laughed, saying — 

“ You are no daughter of Eve if you do not see the old 
gentleman, and find out what he means. See him, my love, 
gee him ; I confess to some curiosity ” 


272 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


Bose accordingly wrote a note to Colonel Hastings, re- 
questing him to call the succeeding day at twelve o’clock. 

Punctually at noon the next day the colonel presented 
himself. He was shown at once into the library. Rose soon 
entered. This was the first occasion upon which Rose had 
ever met the father of her former lover. She advanced with 
cold dignity, saying — 

“ Colonel Hastings, I presume ?” 

“The same, madam. I have the honor of addressing Lady 
Etheridge ?” 

“ Yes, sir. Will you be seated ?” 

“ I thank you, madam,” said the colonel, handing a chair to 
Lady Etheridge, and taking one for himself. 

They sat down at opposite sides of the reading-table. 

“You demanded an interview with me, sir; may I be 
informed for what purpose ?” inquired Rose, coldly. 

“ I requested an interview with you, madam, in order to 
communicate a fact which came to my knowledge through 
my very intimate and confidential relations with the late 
baron, and which vitally concerns your present position and 
prospects. ” 

“My — which concerns my present position and prospects I 
I do not understand you, sir.” 

“ Your present position as Baroness Etheridge of Swin- 
burne ; your prospects as the affianced wife of the Duke c:f 
Beresleigh.” 

“ I am veiy sure that nothing which Colonel Hastings can 
have to communicate can in any way affect the one or the 
other,” replied Rose, in so haughty a tone that the old gen- 
tleman lost some measure of his temper and self-control, as 
be said — 

“We shall see that, madam. Your ladyship has heard of 
me, perhaps, as the life-long, intimate friend of the late 
baron ?” ^ 

Rose bowed, haughtily. 

“ You are also aware that I was left the guardian of the 
person and property of the young lady who was brought up 
as his heiress ?” 

Again Rose bowed in cold silence. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


273 


“ Yoq have also heard, perhaps, that upon the last day and 
night of the late baron’s life, when he refused to see either 
physician or clergyman, he summoned me to his bedside, 
where I remained until he died ?” 

“I have heard so,” said Hose, very coldly. 

“ Then, madam, since you know that I possessed the per- 
fect confidence of the late baron up to the very instant of his 
death, I should think that the respect which you refuse to my 
age and my gray hairs. might at least be accorded to the last 
confidential friend of him whom you believe to have been 
your father,” said the colonel, with some asperity. 

“ I trust that I fail in respect to none ; but this seems 
wide of the purpose which brought you hither. Will you 
please to explain it ?” 

“ Yes. On that last day and night of his life, the late 
Baron Etheridge of Swinburne confided to me a secret,” said 
Colonel Hastings, pausing. 

“ Well, sir ?” 

“A secret that concerns yourself,” continued the colonel, 
•narking the effect that his words might produce upon his 
hearer. 

“ Well, sir, perhaps it was never intended for my ears, in 
which case you had better not d’vidge it.” 

“ But it wo,s intended for your ears, as well as for the ears 
of all the world.” 

“ Then, sir, it seems to me that it should long since have 
been made known.” 

“ The time had not come. The time has only now come.” 

“ Well, sir ?” 

“The secret confided to me by the late baron was a fact, 
for the proof of which he furnished me with abundant evi- 
dence in the form of legal documents.” 

“ Well, sir, I do not yet see how the secret, the fact, con- 
fided to you by the late baron on his death-bed, affects his 
daughter at this late day.” 

“ Then I will straightway tell you. That secret, that fact, 
of which I am the only custodian, of which I only possess the 
proofs, would, if proclaimed, cast you down from your present 
high position to your former penury and obscurity,” said the 

IT 


274 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


colonel, slowly, watching the face of Rose to see the effect 
which his words produced. 

She turned a shade paler, but made no comment. 

“ You now know whether this secret concerns you or not,” 
said the colonel, sarcastically. 

“ Pray go on, sir ; play the play out,” replied Rose. 

“ That secret, that fact, wuth all its proofs, which, once di- 
vulged, would cast you down from wealth and rank to pov- 
erty and obscurity, is mine alone ! and whether it shall ever 
be divulged rests with me and you alone I I only have the 
power of dashing the coronet of Swinburne from your brow ; 
you only have the choice of bidding me close my lips forever 
or open them upon this subject.” 

“ Pray proceed, sir ; tell me what is in your power to di- 
vulge, and the terms of your silence,” said Rose,' sarcastically. 

“ I will. The secret confided in me on his death-bed, by 
the late Baron Etheridge, of Swinburne, together with the 
proofs for establishing the fact, was the existence of another, 
the only true heir of the barony of Swinburne, before whose 
claims all others must shrivel up as stubble before the flame,” 
said the colonel, solemnly. 

“ I am not surprised. It is just what my heart prophesied,” 
thought Rose, within herself. 

“ Y'ou believe what I state. Lady Etheridge?” 

“Yes, I believe it; I thoroughly believe it. Now, then, 
tell me the name of this rightful heir,” said Rose, earnestly. 

“Nay, Lady Etheridge; the name of that heir is a secret 
that I dare not confide, even to yourself, as yet.” 

“Very well; then tell me the terms upon which you will 
forever close your lips upon the subject of this supposed heir,” 
said Rose, with a sarcasm so fine as to escape the apprehen- 
sion of the obtuse intellect of Colonel Hastings. 

“Listen, then. Lady Etheridge — for Lady Etheridge you 
may remain to the end of your life,, if you list. More than 
twelve months since, you were acquainted with my son, Mr. 
Albert Hastings ” 

“ Nay, I never knew Mr. Albert Hastings,” replied Rose, 
haughtily. 

“Very well, then; let that pass. More than a year ago 
vou knew a person calling himself William Level” 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 275 

*^A traitor, who had no right to the name that he as- 
sumed.” 

“ Very well ! now we begin to understand each Dther I 
Now we are coming to the point. You acknowledge an ac- 
quaintance with William Lovel.” 

“A former acquaintance, since repudiated,” said Rose, 
severely. 

“ Exactly. You acknowledge a former acquaintance, since 
repudiated, with a man calling himself William Lovel ; is it 
not so ?” 

“Yes.” 

^'Extremely well. To proceed. My son, Mr. Albert Hast- 
ings, while yet in his early youth, and quite unacquainted 
with his own heart, from the praiseworthy motive of pleasing 
his old father, contracts himself to the supposed Baroness 
Etheridge, for w^horn he cares little or nothing. In one of his 
frequent visits to the neighborhood of his betrothed, he sees a 
lovely cotUge-girl, with whom he becomes sincerely enamored. 
Our affections are not under our own control, else, knowing the 
exquisite delight there is in living with those we love, we 
should love only those we live with. Enough ! He was 
bound to the Lady Etheridge of Swinburne ; but he loved 
only the cottage girl. With the ardor and desperation of a 
youth in love, ho felt that he must win her love, or die. He 
dared not woo her under his true name of Albert Hastings, 
for that was known to be the name of the betrothed husband 
of the then Lady Etheridge of Swinburne. ‘All stratagem is 
fair in love and war,’ says an old proverb. Young men will 
be young men. You cannot make them saints or angels, 
especially if they are in love with a woman whom they 
should not think of. By this time you must know the world. 
Lady Etheridge, and be able to forgive that which, a year 
affo, you could not even comprehend. It was because Albert 
Hastings loved you desperately, that he forgot his own honor 
and your safety, and under the name of William Lovel, 
sought your acquaintance, and wooed and won your affections. 
You are no true woman if you cannot forgive that ruse of a 
young man’s frantic passion,” said Colonel Hastings, narrowly 
watching upon the face of Rose the effect of his words. 


276 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


I had not only forgiven, but forgotten all this, long ago. 
The only meed which the principles and practice which Mr. 
Albert IJas.tings, alias Mr. William Lovel, had won from me, 
was simple oblivion. Only that you recalled him to my 
memory, I had never thought of him or his duplicity again, 
said Rose, very quietly. 

“You are severe ; yet Albert Hastings loves you still, 
loves you only, has loved you ever I” said Colonel Hastings, 
earnestly. 

“ You are wandering from the point, sir. Mr. Albert 
Hastings’ sentiments can be of no importance whatever to 
me. That which I would learn from you is this — what are 
the terms upon which you propose to suppress the existence 
of the true heir of Swinburne ?” inquired Rose, coldly. 

“ I will suppress the existence of the real heir of Swin- 
burne, and leave you in possession of your fictitious rank and 
wealth, upon the conditions that you will at once break off 
your impending marriage with the Duke of Beresleigh, and 
contract your hand to your first lover, my son, Mr. Albert 
Hastings,” said the old gentleman, firmly. 

“And if I do not ?” inquired Rose. 

“ If you do not, I shall wait upon his grace, the Duke of 
Beresleigh, and first of all, put him in possession of the par- 
ticulars of your acquaintance with Mr. Albert Hastings.” 

“ He knows that already, from my own lips.” 

“Very well; then I shall advise him of the existence of the 
true heir of Swinburne, with all the proofs necessary to estab- 
lish his claim, and oust the present possessor from her false 
position,” said the colonel, grimly. 

“And what do you suppose will be the effect of that com- 
munication ?” inquired Rose, with a scarcely suppressed 
sneer. 

“ When I shall have proved to the Duke of Beresleigh the 
existence of an heir to the barony and castle of Swinburne, 
who shall turn out the present possessor- from her false posi- 
tion, his grace will be the first to break off the contemplated 
marriage.” 

“ You think, then, that the Duke of Beresleigh would act 
by me just as Albert Hastings did by the former Lady Ether- 
idge 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


277 


^‘Precisely: it is himian nature. So, think, Lady Ether- 
idge, whether it were not better that you should accept my 
terms, break off the engagement with the duke,* retain the 
barony, and marry Albert Hastings, then reject my condi- 
tions, lose your position, be forsaken by your intended hus- 
band, and sink into your former obscurity.” 

“No,” exclaimed Rose, with impassioned emphasis, “no; 
better any suffering than the sin of keeping the rightful heir 
out of the estate. Better any fate than the folly of joining 
my life with that of a doubly-dyed traitor as Albert flastings 
has proved himself to be ; and now, sir, that you have ven- 
tured to exhibit to me the whole of your base policy, you shall 
hear mine, yes, without measure. You appealed to my rever- 
ence, sir, upon account of your age and the gray hairs that 
symbolize it, and of your confidential relations with the late 
Baron Etheridge. Sir, I reply to this, that age without 
honesty, and gray hairs without honor, are unworthy of re- 
spect, and that the confidence reposed in you by the late 
baron has been, by your own showing, greatly abused. He 
confided to you the name of his rightful heir, and the task of 
reinstating him in his rank and position: You abuse the 
trust by concealing the existence of the true heir, so that you 
may marry the presumptive heiress to your son, and endow 
him with the lands and lordships of Swinburne. While 
Laura bllmer held the rank of Baroness Etheridge, you would 
have married her to your son, but when she fell from her high 
place, through no fault of hers, and I rose upon her fall, 
through no merit of mine, you and your son forsook her, and 
now you dare to bring your suit to me, and to threaten me, 
if I reject it, to produce the real heir, cast me down from my 
position, and break off my marriage with the Duke of Bcres- 
leigh. To all of this I have one practical reply to make. 1 
v: ill immediately request the presence of the Duke of Beres- 
leigh here, and you shall repeat in his presence all that you 
have related to me,” said Rose, pulling the bell-rope. 

“ Lady Etheridge, you are excited ; calm yourself, pause, 
reflect,” exclaimed Colonel Hastings, anxiously. 

The door opened, and a footman appeared. 

“ Take my compliments to the Duke of Beresleigh, and 
Bay that I request his grace to join us here.” 


278 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ Lady Etheridge, you are mad ! Countermand your or- 
before it is too late,” exclaimed the Colonel, in an excited 
whisper. 

But the servant had already bowed and withdrawn from 
the room, while the face of Lady Etheridge betrayed no signs 
of relenting. 

“ Nay, then, if you will be so frantic, I shall withdraw ; yet 
I beseech you be careful ; take time to reflect; do not com- 
mit yourself rashly; take time to weigh consequences, and, if 
you should come to a different decision, a note directed to my 
town-house will always find me. Be cautious not to betray 
your own interests, and I, on my part, shall be careful to 
guard this secret for yet a few days longer.” 

Footsteps were now heard approaching, and the Colonel, 
bowing deeply, hastily withdrew. 

He had scarcely made his escape when the Duke of Beres- 
leigh entered. 

Rose was walking excitedly up and down the floor. 

'fhe duke entered, looking around, and saying — 

“I thought to have found Colonel Hastings here.” 

“ No, he has run away. He came hither to intimidate a 
woman, not to face a man,” said Rose, excitedly. 

The duke stood still and looked at her in amazement for 
a moment, and then, leading her to a seat, said — 

“ Sit down and compose yourself, dearest Rose, and tell 
me calmly what has occurred.” 

“ First, it is as my heart prophesied, dear George, and I 
am not the heiress of Swinburne.” 

“ Forgive the question, dearest Rose, and tell me what 
reason, beyond your own fancy, you have for saying so.” 

" The old man who had just left me has said so. He 
declares that wher>^ he attended my late father in his last 
hours, the baron confided to him the secret of the existence 
of an heir to the barony and castle of Swinburne, together 
with every proof necessary to establish his rights. Colonel 
Hastings offered to suppress these facts and destroy the 
proofs if I would marry his son, and threatened to produce 
the heir and establish his rights by the proofs in his posses- 
sion, if I refused.” 

“And you, dearest, you replied to him as he deserved V* 


rHE BRIDAL EVE; 


279 


“ I requested nim to say to your grace all that he had said 
to me, and I rang and sent a message requesting you to join 
us, whereupon Colonel Hastings hurried awav.” 

‘‘And what do you think of this strange communication, 
love V’ inquired the duke, sm'iling. 

“It confirms the prophetic feelings of my heart; I foci 
that it must be true,” replied Rose, gravely. 

“And I believe it to be essentially false ! This man has 
probably heard of your morbid forebodings upon the subject 
of 3"our inheritance, which is no secret to your friends, and 
he has sought to practice upon your credulity for his own 
pur})oses. ddiat is all.” 

“ But I credit this story, though I cannot trust him. And, 
hclievijig the story as I do, praj^ tell me what must I do ?” 

“ Nothing, simply nothing.” 

“Is there no way of comj)elling him to produce the heir 
and the j)roofs of which he speaks 

“No wav in the world that I know, unless you know the 
name of that heir.” 

“ Can he not be compelled to divulge the name ?” 

“ No, he cannot be compelled to give the name, or to pro- 
duce the heir or the proofs, even if such an heir and such 
proofs exist, which, I repeat, I do not believe. Your present 
policy is that which a great statesman has termed ‘ masterly 
inactivity.’ If such an heir exists, let Colonel Hastings 
bring him forward and prove his claims to the barony of 
Swinburne, when you will at once yield up your possessions. 
I need not repeat to ^mu that no change in your fortunes 
can work any change in^my feelings or purposes towards 
you. You are, under all circumstances and vicissitudes, my 
promised wife, the future Duchess of Beresleigh.” 

With a beaming smile Rose placed her hand in his, and 
they went forth together to join the duchess at dinmu-, who 
' was curious to know, the nature of Colonel Hastings’ com- 
munication to Ladv Ktheridge. When made acquainted 
with the subject-matter of the conversation, her grace 
smiled sarcastically at what she also considered only as the 
empty threat of a weak and designing old man. 

And in the course of the same day, the fourteenth of the 
ensuing month was fixed for the marriage. 


280 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


The evening of the same day upon which these events 
took place, the mysterious individual, whom we* have heard 
called by the name of Roberts, walked restlessly up and 
down the floor of his gloomy apartment in the old, ruined 
palace of Ely. His restlessness was without the least ill- 
humor ; nay, he smiled to himself, as he murmured : 

Gentlemen who can walk abroad at large at all hours of 
the day can, of course, have little appreciation of the 
tediousness of waiting twelve or fourteen hours in a place 
like this, or they would exhibit more charity.” 

His good-humor was at last rewarded by the sound of steps 
approaching the door, and by the peculiar rap by which the 
visitor announced his arrival. 

Roberts cautiously opened the door, admitted the visitor, 
and secured it behind him before speaking. 

“ Well, dear Mac, here you are at last, old fellow I I have 
been hoping and expecting to see you ever since the night of 
our adventure. I could not find any safe way of communi- 
cating with you until this afternoon, when I contrived to send 
you a note. But knew where to find me, and it was cruel 
in you not to come,” said Roberts, in his usual gay, sweet 
tone. 

“It was 'wise and prudent of me. Was I, perchance, to 
show the police the way to your lair ? Roberts, you are the 
most imprudent man I ever knew for a coward.” 

“Epicure, epicure, dear Mac; not coward, but epicure; it 
is not danger or death that I dislike, but pain, dear Mac, pain ; 
therefore, call me epicure, or voluptuary, if you like, but not 
coward,” said Roberts, mildly. 

“Very well, then; for an epicure you run more risks of 
hurting yourself than any one I ever knew.” 

“ Nay, I am very cautious ; I have not shown myself abroad 
by daylight since the adventure. But now tell me, what does 
the world outside say of it ?” 

“ They give opinions as opposite as north and south. Of 
this, however, I can assure you, suspicion is far off the right 
track. Neither you nor I am suspected, so far as I have 
been able to discover. The particulars given by the young 
lady to the magistrates are of the general and unsatisfactory 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


281 


character. Her carriage attacked in the ni 2 :ht on Hounslow 
Heath by thieves, not one of whom she could identify ; her- 
self rescued by two gentlemen, who called themselves Colonel 
M’Carthy and Captain Koberts, but whose faces she never 
distinctly saw, and taken through the darkness to a country 
house in the woods, somewhere off the road between Windsor 
and London, and finally carried off again thence by a man 
who wore a mask and spoke in whispers. Yery interesting 
but very embarrassing all that I There may be two hundred 
unidentified foot-pads in England. There are, perhaps, two 
thousand gents who might answer to the description of 
Colonel M’Carthy and Captain Roberts, of the 11th In- 
fantry, though there happen to be no such officers in that 
gallant regiment. And lastly, as the preachers say, there 
are at least two score of old country-houses in the woods off' 
the road between London and Windsor, though there may be 
no such place as Howlet's Close found among the number. 
But there is one thing I cannot understand, Roberts.” 

‘ What is that ?” 

“ Who the deuce it could have been that carried the young 
lady from the house in the woods, and so ruined my enter- 
prise !” 

“ What inquired Roberts, abstractedly. 

“ I say, I cannot imagine who that man in the mask, whq,. 
concealed himself in the young lady’s room, and seized and 
carried her off by force, could have been, or what his motive 
could have been. I have been thinking of it ever since, and 
can make nothing of the matter — ean you ?” 

“ No, indeed, dear Mac ; I never was intended by nature 
as a detective.” 

“ In fact, I am more puzzled than the police ; for the police 
are not puzzled at all. They who have not been able to 
identify either the first assailants, the rescuers, or the country- 
house to which the young lady was taken, have quite hit 
upon the individual who carried her off thence,” said Mac, 
looking wistfully at his companion, whose only comment was 
a smooth, serene — 

“ Indeed.” 

“Yes; they have quite made out the identity of the indi 


282 


THE BRIDAL ETE, 


vidual who carried Lady Etheridge off from the house in the 
woods ! Now, who do you suppose they have made him out 
to be 

“Upon my life I could not say, dear Mac,” answered 
Roberts, with cheerful frankness. 

“Faw/” 

'' Me ?” inquired Roberts, with gay incredulity. 

“What nonsense, dear Mac ! What should have put that 
into their remarkably stupid heads inquired Roberts, with 
an amused expression of countenance. 

“ The evidence of the cabman who was hired by the man 
to carry off the lady, and who described his employer as ‘ a 
tall, stoutish, light-complected gent, with light ’air and 
w’iskers, and most the beautifullest smile as hever I see !’” 

“ Ma, ha, ha ! A description that would suit half a million 
of British gentlemen !” laughed Roberts, gayly. 

“ Exactly — precisely. Yet, you see, they could think of 
no one but yourself. It shows that they know you to be in 
England, and that they are in search of you. So, though of 
course they are ludicrously mistaken in supposing you to 
have been the masked man that carried off the beauty from 
the house in the woods, yet, as their attention is turned to- 
wards you, you had better leave England as soon as you can 
get off. In fact, I cannot imagine what madness it was that 
brought you back.” 

“The madness is comprised in one word — Helen.” 

“You, ‘for another Helen, would lose another Troy.’” 

“ No more of that — to come to the point. Though our 
enterprise has signally failed, yet I dare to presume the — 
hem ! — nobleman, your patron, has liberally, or will liberally 
reward our zeal.” 

“ Hush, for Heaven’s sake. No. Had we succeeded in 
securing the beauty, and had she been persuaded to listen tc 
his suit, I will not venture to say what we might not have 
expected from the gratitude and munificence of my noble pat- 
ron, for with — hem 1 — nobles, success is the test of merit. 
But we failed, and failure is, with the same judges, the proof 
of demerit. And were we to acknowledge our deed, and 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 283 

«laim reward for our zeal, we should he transported for our 
crime.” 

“ Humph I it is a nice business this secret service of 

nobles,” said Roberts, with a good-humored smile. 

“ It was a failure, Roberts — a failure, and, as such, must 
be borne with philosophical coolness.” 

“And is the case quite hopeless with the yoi:j^glady 

“ So hopeless that she will be married on the fourteenth of 
next month to his Grace the Duke of Bereslcigh.” 

“ No I” exclaimed Roberts, betrayed into more energy of 
expression than was usual with him. 

“ Yes, certainly, it is publicly announced ; but what i? 
there so strange about that as to make you start up and ex 
claim in that way ?” 

“Rose Elmer — Lady Etheridge — Duchess of Reresleigh,’ 
murmured Roberts, musing deeply. 

“Well, well, well, of course! All natural enough, the 
pair were understood to be engaged long before their betrothal 
was announced ; but why it should affect you so strangely I 
cannot imagine,” exclaimed Mac, in impatient surprise. 

“ Why, my dear Mac ? Because such a marriage will dis- 
appoint your — noble — patron,” replied Roberts, smoothly, 
having quite recovered his serenity. 

“Pooh; that is not the reason. What do you take me for 
to impose such a story as that upon me ?” 

“ Really, my dear Mac, that is one reason, though not the 
only one. The other is that I once knew this Rose Elmer as 
the daughter of a village laundress. And you will ac- 
knowledge that I have a right to be rather startled to hear 
that she is about to become a duchess.” 

“ Hem ! I doubt much whether that is the whole reason, 
either ; but I will not press upon so very forbearing an an- 
tagonist. I will rather draw our conversation to a close. 
You sent for me, merely to know whether my noble patron 
would repay your unsuccessful efforts to serve him.” 

“ I did, dear Mac.” 

“And I told you ‘ no,’ for if the ill-fated enterprise should 
come to his knowledge, our patron, instead of rewarding our 
zeal, would punish our crimes and illustrate bis own high 
sense of justice.” 


284 


,THE BRIDAL EVE. 


‘' Exactly, dear Mac; but what is the use of repeating pain- 
ful truths ?"’ said Roberts, sweetly. 

“ In order to come to a pleasant one, and to tell you that, 
although nothing is to be expected or Hoped for from our pa- 
tron, yet I will not permit you to suffer loss from an enterprise 
rnto which I was the means of drawing you. I came here 
with the express purpose of telling you all this, putting this 
fifty-pound note into your hand, and advising you to place as 
many miles of sea between yourself and England as you con- 
veniently can, for your own good, and my safety, for you are 
just the fellow to turn king’s evidence upon a pinch,” added 
Mac, mentally. 

“ I thank you, dear Mac. You are very kind and thought- 
ful. I accept your bounty as a loan, to be repaid with 
interest some of these days.” 

“ Of course, as a loan,” replied Mac, very drily, adding — 
“ and now I must really wish you good-evening, or rather 
bid you good-bye. I hope to hear from you from Quebec or 
Constantinople,’ said Mac, shaking hands with Roberts, and 
leaving the room. 

Left alone, Roberts took two or three turns up and down 
the room, murmuring — 

“ Rose Elmer — Baroness Etheridge — Duchess Beresleigh I 
high fortunes for the cottage-girl ! I could spoil that pretty 
sport if I chose to do so, or dared to show myself ! Were 
but one man and one woman out of my way, what a prospect 
were opening to me I I must think ! I must think ! Here 
is a magnificent fortune, and perhaps a baron’s coronet, within 
my very grasp, but that man who was the witness of my 
crime ! and that woman, who is the living obstacle to my am- 
bition ! The woman may be easily enough disposed of, poor 
creature ! but the man ! the man ! I must think. Can ill 
these difficulties be overcome in time to permit me to appear 
and arrest this marriage ? Scarcely I Well, let the marriage 
go on if it must, for a while, it will only give me a stronger 
hold upon her grace. Let her wear the strawberry leaves a 
little while ; she will be none the worse, and as she is not 
Helen, I am not fastidious I Oh, Helen I Helen 1” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


285 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE INTERRUPTED DECLARATION. 

Why, I can smile, aad murder while I smile. 

And cry content to that which grieves my heart, 

And wet my cheeks with penitential tears. 

And frame my face to all occasions, — Shakupeare. 

The marriage of the Duke of Beresleigh and. the Lad /• 
Etheridge of Swinburne came off with great eclat. The cerj- 
mony was performed in St. James’s Chapel, in the presence 
of the elite of the aristocracy. The Bishop of London 
officiated. The bride was attended to the altar by the Ladies 
WardoLir, the sisters of the bridegroom, and by Miss Elmer, 
her particular friend. After the ceremony the bridal party 
returned to Beresleigh House, where a select party were 
entertained at breakfast. 

Immediately after breakfast, the newly-married pair, amid 
the hearty congratulations of their friends, set out upon their 
bridal tour through the North of England and Scotland, 
intending to proceed thence to the Continent. And their 
friends soon after dispersed to their several homes. 

Laura Elmer returned to her humble duties at Lester 
House. She felt great London all the lonelier for the want 
of her friend Rose. Indeed, the young duchess had earnestly 
entreated Miss Elmer to join her travelling party to the Con- 
tinent. But Laura had sufficient delicacy and self-denial to 
decline this proffered pleasure. 

After the marriage and departure of the young duke and 
duchess. Miss Elmer’s home with the Lesters Avas not so 
agreeable as it had been. Lady Lester, having nothing more 
to hope from Laura’s influence over Rose in favor of Mr. 
Lester, treated the governess, not with disrespect — for no 
one durst do that — but with coolness. » 

Sir Vincent’s manner, on the contrary, had grown so atten- 
Jve as to be troublesome and embarrassing. Even Helen 
Ravenscroft had disappeared from view. Miss Elmer had 
neither seen nor heard from her since the day upon which 


286 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


they had last driven out together, when Mrs, Ravenscroft 
had thrown the letter from tlie carriage-window to the stranger 
who had followed them. 

Ferdinand Cassinove kept on the “even tenor” of his 
laborious life — teaching all da}^, and reading law all the even- 
ing. His patron had grown cold to him ; his occasional 
meetings with Laura Elmer were abridged. By a new regu- 
lation of Sir Vincent, the tutor and his solitary pupil took 
their meals alone together in their study. Well did Mr. 
Cassinove understand the reasons both of Sir Vincent’s cool- 
ness tc himself, and of his new regulation in regard to the 
school-room meals, and bis heart burned with honest indig- 
nation. The chief solace of his life was now the daily “ good- 
morning” and “good-night,” when his hand met Laura’s 
hand in a thrilling clasp — when his eyes met Laura’s eyes in 
a passionate glance. In the morning, that clasp, that glance, 
sent him cheered and strengthened to his daily work ; in the 
evening, sent him comforted and happy to his night’s rest. 
But for this sweet comfort, his warm, southern nature could 
scarcely have borne the chilling atmosphere of the society in 
which he lived. And but for the secret instinct that assured 
him his presence in the house made Laura Elmer’s life there 
all the lighter, he would not have endured his position to the 
end of the term for which he had been engaged. 

And Laura Elmer understood his motives nerfectly. No 
word of love had been uttered between them , their mutual 
esteem and affection had spoken only through their eloquent 
eyes. Yet Laura Elmer knew that Ferdinand Cassinove 
retained his position, and endured a thousand humiliations, 
only for her sake. Laura Elmer was trying to discipline her 
own spirit to the difficult habit of controlling her impulses 
and obeying her principles. Thus, though many impulses 
of pride, delicacy and self-respect, urged her to quit her 
situation at once, the single principle of fidelity constrained 
her to be faithful to her engagement for the whole of the 
term, at the close of which she resolved, both for her owa 
sake and that of Ferdinand Cassinove, to leave the house. 
She was writing for several magazines of high character, and 
drawing a small, but sufficient, income from her literary 

\ 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


287 


works. She determined, at the close of her present engage- 
ment, to abandon forever the life of a governess, for which 
she felt that nature had never intended her, and to find some 
quiet, respectable lodgings, where she might live independ- 
ently by the productions of her pen. 

In thinking of searching for lodgings in the wilderness of 
London, her thoughts naturally recurred to Mrs. Russel, the 
struggling young mother, in 'whose excellent character and 
unmerited misfortunes Cassinove had interested her sympa- 
thies. She remembered that Ruth Russel was engaged in 
the difficult task of trying to support her little family by keep- 
ing a small shop that would not succeed, and neat lodgings that 
would not let, and she resolved, at the first opportunity, to 
get the address of Mrs. Russel from Mr. Cassinove, with the 
view of inspecting her lodgings, and possibly becoming her 
tenant. 

In the meantime. Miss Elmer addressed a note to Lady 
Lester, advising her ladyship of her intention to leave at the 
end of the term. And Laura’s resignation was at once ac- 
cepted, with a few conventional expressions of regret that the 
young ladies should lose the advantage of the instructions of 
so accomplished a teacher. And the news got abroad in the 
household that Miss Elmer was going away. 

It was about this time, in the interval between the morning 
and the afternoon session, that Miss Elmer was sitting alone 
in the vacant school-room, when there came a rap at the 
door. 

“ Como in,” said Miss Elmer, expecting to see a servant 
with a message from Sir Vincent or Lady Lester. 

Mr. Cassinove entered the school-room. 

His face was pale, and his voice vibrated with intense sup- 
pressed emotion, as he said— - 

“ I hope you will pardon this intrusion, and give me a few 
moments’ interview. Miss Elmer.” 

“ Certainly, Mr. Cassinove ; pray take a seat,” she said, 
handing a chair, and resuming her own place at her desk. 

With a bow, he declined to sit down ; but standing before 
her, and resting one hand upon the back of the chair, he 
sa’d — 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


id88 

“You are about to leave us, I hear, Miss Elmer?” 

“In a few weeks — yes.” 

“Forgive the question — for another situation?” 

“ No ; when one has discovered that she is not fitted for a 
particular work, she should abandon it ; and when she has 
found that for which she is best adapted, she should pursue 
it. 1 have^clearly ascertained that I am not fitted either by 
ability or inclination for the life of a governess, since I can 
make myself neither very useful nor very happy in its duties; 
while I have some gift for scribbling, by which I can give 
more satisfaction, if not do more good. At least it is my: 
principal talent, and I purpose to give up teaching, take some 
quiet, pleasant lodgings, and maintain myself by my goose- 
quill, which already brings me an income sufficient for my few 
wants.” 

“ You will be more independent, more retired, and happier. 
I sincerely congratulate you on the change. Miss Elmer. The 
most humble life of liberty and seclusion is preferable to any 
life of dependence amid uncongenial associates. And since 
you speak of going into lodgings, will you permit me to rec- 
ommend to you my late landlady, Mrs. Russel ?” 

“ Thank you, I was thinking of her.” 

“ She is a gentle and refined woman, unfit to struggle 
through the world, and hence she does not succeed very well. 
She has now a pretty little house at Chelsea, the ground 
floor of which is occupied with her own little shop and family 
rooms. The upper floor comprises a suite of three or four 
neat rooms, that she would be glad to let, I think you would 
like both the landlady and her lodgings.” 

“ I am quite sure that I should. Please give me her exact 
address,” said Laura, taking up a pencil. 

Cassinove complied, and while Laura was taking down the 
address, he gazed upon her beautiful bowed face, as she bent 
over her desk, until his own face rapidly flushed, and paled, 
and his breath came short and quick. 

She heard — her ear caught that quick, convulsive breathing 
— and she impulsively looked up just as he stooped and took 
her band, and bowing over it, uttered, in a tone scarcely 
above his breath, yet deep and vibrating with his soul’s pro- 
found emotion — 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


239 


“ Laura Elmer, I love you. I love you with mj’ whole 
1: eart, soul, and spirit. I loved you the first hour that I looked 
' pon your noble face. I have loved you with an ever-increas- 
• mg power ever since, as I shall love you tl;rough all time and 
through all eternity. I have suppressed the utterance of my 
love for months, as I ought, perhaps, yet to have suppressed 
it for years, but I could not be silent longer; I could not stifle 
my feelings and live. And so I have sought you to-day, 
Laura Elmer, not in selfishness, not in vanity, not in presump- 
tion ; not to engage your heart or bind your hand to a poor 
man, who must yet struggle through many years of labor, 
privation, and hardship before he can command a position 
which he would dare ask you to share. No, Laura Elmer, 
no ; 1 sought you to say that my heart, my brain, my ser- 
vices, my whole life are all your own ; to say that I conse- 
crate myself, with all that I am or may become, with all that I 
have or may acquire, to your service for life and death and 
eternity, and count myself richer than a monarch, more 
blessed than an archangel, so you will but accept the offer- 
ing.” 

He paused, still breathing low and quick, and raised his 
eyes, eloquent with emotion, to hers. 

Her face, that had been averted, was now turned gently 
towards him, when, meeting her glances, he exclaimed — 

“Oh, heaven! your eyes are full of tears. You do not 
turn away. My worship is not all wasted. You accept the 
ovation. Oh, Laura, is it not so ? Speak to me I speak to 
me I” 

She placed both her hands in both of his, with a glance 
that told him all he wished to know. 

He caught those white hands and pressed them rapturously 
to his lips, to his heart, amid exclamations of love and delight, 
that made him blind, deaf, and insensible to all else on earth 
or in heaven, blind, deaf, and insensible to the presence of 
Sir Vincent Lester, who had entered the school-room unan- 
nounced, and who now stood gazing upon this love-scene with 
his dark and handsome face lowering with evil passions, until 
Laura Elmer raised her eyes, and with a slight exclamation , 
recognized him and started to her feet. 

18 


290 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


I beg your pardon, Miss Elmer ; but if this bad been 
another than the school-room, I should not have entered un- 
announced,” said the baronet, with piercing sarcasm. 

Ferdinand Cassinove stood up, and, taking the hand of 
Laura Elmer, confronted Sir Vincent with a proud and joy- 
ous expression upon his fine face, saying — 

“ Sir Vincent Lester, I have the honor to announce to you 
my engagement to Miss Elmer, who has just blessed my life 
with the promise of her hand.” 

“I congratulate you, sir; though your somewhat formal 
announcement of so evident a fact seems rather a work of 
supererogation,” said the baronet, with freezing hauteur. 

Mr. Cassinove bowed coldly. 

“And now, sir,” continued Sir Vincent, “as the time of an 
engaged man must be much more valuable to himself than to 
any one else, I have to inform you that I must, from this day, 
deny myself your inestimable services, and authorize your de- 
parture from my house at your earliest convenience.” 

Again Cassinove bowed ceremoniously, saying — 

“ You have anticipated my wishes and purposes in this 
matter. Sir Vincent. My term is up to-morrow, when I shall 
relieve you of my presence.” 

“ Fray do not feel obliged to serve to the end of the term 
for which you were engaged. I quite willingly release you 
from such an obligation, and promise that, whether you go 
to-day or to-morrow, the time of your departure shall make 
no diflference in the amount of your wages — a consideration 
not wholly unimportant, I presume, to a young gentleman 
who is thinking of setting up an establishment. Therefore, 
stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once. If 
you hope to get another situation, however, do not come to 
me for a character. 1 cannot conscientiously recommend a 
tutor who passes his time in making love to the governess, 
and chooses the school -room as the theatre of his romantic 
drama I” sneered the baronet, whose face was black with 
suppressed rage. Then turning to Laura Elmer, with a 
sarcastic bow, he said — 

“ I must again beg your pardon. Miss Elmer, for breaking in 
upon your verv interesting little scene, and say, in apology 


THB BRIDAL EVE. 


291 


for my indiscretion, that I would scarcely have expected to 
find the governess or the school so sentimentally employed.” 

And with a sardonic smile and bow he left the room. 

Cassinove, with his dark eyes blazing with anger, started 
after him ; but quick as lightning Laura Elmer sprang for 
ward and caught his arm, saying — 

“ Cassinove ! Cassinove ! pause — control yourself !” 

“ He has insulted you ! I must chastise him I I must and 
will ! I would if he were the king I” exclaimed Cassinove, 
his whole countenance inflamed with indignation. 

“ No, no, Ferdinand, you will not, you must not. You will 
listen to me, and govern yourself. Remember that ‘ he who 
ruleth his own spirit is greater than he who taketh a city.’ 
Anger is insensate, irrational. To yield to it is unworthy of 
a man ; keep your own soul in peace ; let this insulting 
baronet go ; what is he to us that we should permit him to 
disturb our repose ; to-morrow we shall be clear of him ; 
to-day let us forget him ; come, you will yield to me this 
time 

He turned towards her, and his anger all melted away in a 
smile beaming with love, as he exclaimed — 

“ Yield to you, my love, my lady, my queen I yield to you I 
Yes I my will, my life, my soul, should you require it of 
me.” 

A little longer she detained him, to be sure that his indig 
nation was entirely calmed, and then she dismissed him and 
summoned her pupils. 


292 


THE BRIDAL BV*. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

THE MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


Foul deeds will rise, 

Though all the earth o’erwhelm them to men’s eyes, 
For murder, though it hath no tongue, will speak 
With most miraculous organ. — Shakspeare. 


When the afternoon lessons were over, Laura Elmer drove 
to Chelsea, to inspect the lodgings on the second floor of Mrs. 
Russel’s little cottage. She found the landlady and the 
lodgings all that Mr. Cassinove had represented them to be. 

The cottage was situated in a quiet, clean street, and bad 
the advantage of a fine, shady garden in the rear. The first 
floor was occupied with a neat little shop in front, and with 
the landlady’s own apartments in the back. The second floor 
comprised a clean, airy parlor, with white window curtains in 
front, and an equally clean and airy little chamber, with white 
draperies, in the back. 

Mrs. Russel was the same pleasing little lady that has 
already been described. 

Miss Elmer was more than satisfied with the accommoda- 
tions oflered, and therefore she immediately engaged the 
apartments, promising to come and take possession in a few 
days. 

When Miss Elmer then mentioned that Mr. Cassinove had 
recommended the house and the hostess, Mrs. Russel became 
enthusiastic in her expressions of gratitude for his kindness, 
admiration of his character, and aspirations for his welfare. 
Miss Elmer was delighted with her warm encomiums, and ;’n 
this pleasing frame of mind she took leave. 

She returned to Lester House in time for a late tea, and 
without having a second opportunity of conversing with 
Cassinove, she retired to her chamber. 

Laura w^ent to bed and tried to read herself to sleep, 
vainly, for she could neither fix her attention to the volume 
in her hand, nor compose herself to rest. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


293 


The day had been too full of strange excitements. Fer- 
dinand Cassinove, whom in her secret heart she had long 
adored, had declared his love, and she had made him happy 
by accepting the true heart that he had laid at her feet. 
They were betrothed. She felt that this assurance should 
have calmed her spirits, and she wondered why it did not, 
and why, on the contrary, her soul was oppressed with a 
gloom that she could not shake off, and haunted with a pre- 
sentiment of evil which she could by no means exorcise. It 
was true she knew Lady Lester 'had no kindly feelings 
towards her, and also that Sir Vincent Lester hated Cas- 
sinove with the intense hatred of jealousy ; but then Cas- 
sinove, as well as herself, was to leave the house upon the 
next day, and need never come into collision with the Lesters 
again. 

Thus it could not have been the thought of their animosity 
that filled her soul with a Sense of approaching calamity, 
vague and terrible as the forms that move through the valley 
of the shadow of death. 

She lay tossing for hours in a state of restlessness that 
could not be soothed. She heard the latest domestics, one 
by one, retire to their beds. And long after that, in the 
dead waste and middle of the night,” her ears, sharpened by 
nervous excitement, heard the faintest sound in the empty 
street' without or the silent house within. At length all 
without and within was as still as death. Even her strained 
sense of hearing could not catch the faintest sound. 

The dead silence and darkness was almost suffocating to 
her preternaturally excited nerves on the qui vive of a sort 
of fearful expectancy. 

It was while listening painfully through the deep silence, 
and gazing intently into the black darkness of her chamber, 
that a line of red lights, as from a candle, carried in the hall 
without, glided through the crevice at the bottom of her 
door, and traversed the length of her darkened chamber 
walls, and disappeared. At the same moment the stairs 
leading down to the next floor creaked slowly and softly as 
under the weight of some cautiously descending step. 

Slight as this incident was, in the preternatural excitement 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


294 

of her uerves, it filled her soul with terror. It was in vain 
that she assured herself that there was nothing unnatural or 
alarming in the event, that the midnight walker was merely 
some domestic passing through the house on some harmless 
orrand of his own. She could not be at rest ; her heart 
Btooc still with horror 1 she listened intently as if for some 
knell of doom. She heard it. 

“ Murder ! murder I murder 1 murd 

There was no mistaking those fearful shrieks that broke 
upon the silent midnight hour, and died away in gurgling 
inarticulation. 

She understood her presentiment now. She sprang from 
her bed in frantic haste, threw on her dressing-gown, and 
rushed out into the passage. The alarmed household, 
startled out of their deep sleep by those frenzied cries, were 
now in motion, and all hurrying, half-dressed, and with ex- 
clamations of astonishment, wonder, and alarm, towards the 
chamber whence the cries had proceeded. Almost maddened 
with excitement, Laura Elmer joined them, and the whole 
party poured into the chamber of Sir Vincent Lester. 

There a scene met her view that seemed to congeal to 
ice every drop of her life-current. 

Sir Vincent Lester lay wounded and dying in his bed, 
his heart’s blood spouting in a thick jet from the wound in his 
side. With the convulsive grasp of the dying, he. held 
Ferdinand Cassinove, who pale, ghastly, and paralyzed with 
horror, and clutching a poniard in his hand, bent over the 
murdered man, without attempting to escape. 

“ In the name of heaven, what is the meaning of this ?” ex- 
claimed the butler, while ejaculations of amazement burst 
from the men, and shrieks of terror from the women. 

“ He has murdered me I he, he, the wretch 1” exclaimed 
the dying man, starting up and tightening his grasp upon the 
young man’s collar, while, with the violence of the action, the 
blood spouted in torrents from his mortal wound. 

And the next instant the convulsive grasp relaxed, the 
failing hand fell, and the dying man dropped back upon his 
pillow — dead. 

“For Heaven’s sake run for a physician, some one! he 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


295 


may only have fainted,” exclaimed Ferdinand Cassinove, 
waking as it were from the panic of horror that had bound 
his senses 

Then seeing all eyes fixed upon him in loathing and amaze* 
mcnt, and not understanding the meaning of their gaze, yet 
not willing that a moment should be lost that might be of 
vital interest to the victim, he exclaimed, earnestly : 

“ Hasten I fly I for Heaven’s sake fly for a physician I A 
moment may save or lose your master’s life !” 

Perceiving that no one olfered to obey, while all continued 
to glare upon him in detestation and horror, he said to the 
butler : 

“ Watson, look to your master ! You have some experi- 
ence. Apply restoratives vigorously, while I hasten myself 
to bring surgical help.” 

And he moved towards the door. 

Here he was intercepted by the crowd of domestics, who, 
roused from their apathy of horror, roughly barred his way, 
with exclamations of — 

“ No, you don’t, though !” 

You’d cut and run, would you I” 

“ Don’t you hope you may, you raskil ?” 

“ Oh, won’t you swing for it, though !” 

“ Hold on, you I Stay where you are, will you !” 

“ Don’t let him get away ! Seize holt on him, Jeemes I” 

“ Go for the perlice I” 

The confusion was indescribable. 

“ Friends, what do you mean by hindering me ? Let me 
pass. I must hurry at once to bring a physician. Don’t 
you see that life and death hang upon every moment ?” ex- 
claimed Cassinove, in an agony of anxiety to save his enemy, 
if there should be yet a shadow of hope. 

“ Oh, yes, we know that your life or death hangs upon 
every instant, and you’ll hang yourself pretty soon I Here 
comes Mr, Watson ! hear what he says about it,” said James, 
Hie ladies’ footman. 

Watson, the butler, who had been anxiously examining the 
condition of the baronet, now left the bedside and stood 
among his felloW'Servanls, pale as death. 


296 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“A physician should be instantly summoned,” ag'ain be.^iii 
Cassinovc anxiously to say, when the butler gravely inter- 
rupted him. . 

“Mr. Cassinovc, no physician , can bring the dead to life, 
and my master, Sir Vincent Lester, is quite dead ; but, for 
all that, I wdll send for one. James, you go at once, and 
rouse up Doctor Clark, and tell him what has happened, and 
ask him to please to come at once. He will know what is 
best to be done, and how to tell my lady. And then, James, 
W'hen — wLen you have told the doctor, go to Bow-street, and 
bring a pair of policemen. And mind, James, that you do 
not say one word to any one else as to what has occurred in 
this house until you are required to do so.” 

James was about to start upon his errand, when Cassinove, 
starting forw'ard, said : 

“ Send the footman at once to Bow street. I will go my- 
self for the family physician.” 

“ No, you don’t, though ! no, you don’t I” cried one of the 
servants, intercepting him. 

“ We should never see the sight of your face again if we 
were green enough to let you go I” exclaimed another, joining 
the opposition. 

•“ What is the meaning of all this ? Has horror deprived 
you of your senses ?” inquired Cassinove, looking in amaze- 
ment from one to another, and reading only abhorrence upon 
every face. 

“I am afraid, Mr. Cassinove, that we must not let you 
leave the room,” said the butler, gravely. 

“ Not let me leave the room ! What do you mean, fel- 
low ?” questioned Cassinove, indignantly. 

“ I am afraid, sir, we dare not do it,” persisted the bntler. 

“Explain yourself!” peremptorily demanded Cassinove. 

“ The circumstances, sir I the circumstances 1” 

“ What circumstances, fellow ?” 

“The circumstances we found you in when we .burst into 
the room at the cries of murder, sir; our master murdered, 
and d\dng, weltering in his blood ; you standing over him 
, W'ilh the dripping dagger in your hand,” said the butler, shud- 
dering with horror at the recollection. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


297 


Young Cassinove turned gliastly white, reeled, and dropped 
into the nearest seat, struck for the first time bj the over- 
whelming force of the circumstantial evidence against him- 
self Then recovering, with a great effort, and wiping the 
drops of agony from his brow, he gasped forth the words — 

“ But I had rushed at the first ciy for help to the assistance 
of Sir Vincent ; I had been, as usual, reading late in the study, 
as is my custom, when I heard the cry of ‘ murder’ from Sir 
V'incent’s room. I sprang up, and rushed in at once ; as I 
ran along the hall, I thought a figure rushed past me in the 
opposite direction, but I hurried on, and was the first to enter 
Sir Vincent’s room ; I found him in the first spasm of the 
wound ; I raised him in my arms, and drew out the poniard ; 
he clutched me in his dying agony, and cried, a little wildly 
and incoherently, ‘Pursue him] pursue him I’ and the next 
instant the room was filled with you all as it is now.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Cassinove, that sounds fair and reasonable 
enough,, and I hope it may be as you say, and may do you 
good with the magistrate, but the last words of my master, 
Mr. Cassinove — the last words of my master.” 

“ Well — what were they ? I was so overwhelmed with hor- 
ror that I did not distinctly hear them.” 

“ They accused you as his murderer, Mr. Cassinove.” 

“ Never ! never !” cried Ferdinand Cassinove. 

“ Yes, sir ; I am sorry to say they did. Think of it. Oh, 
It was horrible, sir ! It chills my very heart to think of it 
nov Becollect the circumstances, sir. You were standing 
over him with the reeking dagger in your hand. He had 
you by the collar in his dying grasp, and with his dying lips 
he said : 

“ ‘ He has murdered me — he, he, the wretch !’ 

“ But I was there to save him. He clutched me only in his 
mortal death-throes. His wild words referred only to the 
wretch who really did assassinate him, and not to me,” ex- 
plained Cassinove, in consternation at the increasing force 
of the fatal circumstantial evidence. 

“ It all sounds quite reasonable, Mr. Cassinove, sir, and I 
hope it may prove true ; but that will be for his worship, the 
magistrat'*. to judge of, and not for me. Meantime, it is oiu’ 


298 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


duty to keep you here until the police come,” replied tho 
butler, gravely. 

“But, good heaven! you cannot imagine that I could 
commit a crime of that sort I” exclaimed Cassinove, over- 
whelmed by the horrible suspicion. 

“ Can’t say nothing about it, Mr. Cassinove. Seems to 
me, with our master lying there, ghastly, in a pool of his own 
blood, as if I were suffering under a nightmare and couldn’t 
wake up I” groaned Watson. 

“ But what motive, good heaven, could any one suppose 
me to have for such a horrible deed ?” exclaimed Cassinove. 

“ Can’t say, Mr. Cassinove ; but all the house knows that 
there was no good blood between you and our unfortunate 
master. Besides, the Holy Bible says that ‘jealousy is as 
cruel as the grave.’ ” 

Cassinove covered his face with his hands, and sunk groan- 
ing into his seat. The last words of the butler supplied all 
that was wanting in the chain of evidence against him — the 
motive for the deed I 

Scarcely a moment had he sat thus with his face buried in 
his hands, when he felt a light touch upon his shoulder, and 
neard a gentle voice at his ear, murmuring softly : 

“ Take courage ; you are guiltless, and your innocence 
will be made clear.” 

He looked up, and saw Laura Elmer, pale but lirm, stand- 
ing b}" his side. 

“ Oh, Miss Elmer ! you at least do not suspect me of this 
awful crime ?” he cried, wildly. 

“ I suspect you ? — not for an instant ! It were treason, 
sacrilege in me to do so I No I my life, my soul upon your 
innocence of this charge ! Take courage. There is one in 
Heaven who knows your innocence — jmur Creator ! and there 
are twe on earth — the wretch who really committed the 
crime, and whom Providence may bring to justice, and your 
promised wife, who, come what may, will keep her faith, and 
share your fate, live with you if it be life, die with you if it 
be death I Be of good courage, therefore.” 

“ Oh, my love 1 my life 1 my lady I I am, I am ! I will 
droop no more I I can bear to be convicted in the opinion 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


299 


of the whole world so as you know me to be guiltless. I 
k?ould bear even an ignominous death, supported by the 
thought of your esteem,” exclaimed the young man, in a 
deep, impassioned tone, that met only her listening ear. 

‘‘ It will not come to that ; God is just ; your innocence 
of this charge shall be made manifest.” 


CHAPTER XXY. 

THE FATAL EVIDENCE. 


True, conscious honor is to feel no sin: 

He’s armed without, who’s innocent within. 

Be this his sword and this his shield of brass. — Horace. 


Their conversation was interrupted by the hasty and 
agitated arrival of the family physician, and the return of the 
footman accompanied by the Bow street officers. Then 
followed a scene of hurry and excitement, in which every new- 
comer wished to ask questions, and every abider in the 
chamber of death to answer them. This was claimed at last 
by Dr. Clark, and the Bow street magistrate, who com- 
manded all to be quiet, and then proceeded to the careful 
examination of the body of the baronet, who was officially 
pronounced to be, as all present knew that he been for an 
hour, quite dead. The body was then covered over, and 
ordered to be left undisturbed until the arrival of the coroner. 

The circumstances of the discovery of the dreadful tragedy 
were then required and detailed. The butler being the 
spokesman of the assembled household, related that they had 
been roused from their sleep by cries of murder that were 
soon smothered and drowned ; that they had hurried in 
alarm to Sir Vincent’s chamber, whence the cries proceeded, 
and where they found their master wounded and dying, yet 
clutching with his dying hand the collar of Ferdinand Cas- 
«iuove, who stood over him, reeking dagger in hand, and 

A 


300 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


accusing with his dying lips the same Ferdinand Cassinovt 
of his murder. , 

At this point of the narrative all eyes were turned again in 
consternation and horror upon Mr. Cassinove, who stood up, 
sustained in spirit only by the presence and sympathy of one 
heroic vvoman. 

“ D( not stand so amazed ; answer for yourself, beloved ; 
explain, they must believe you,” whispered Laura Elmer, 
encouragingly. 

And thus adjured, Ferdinand Cassinove stood forward, and 
was about to speak when the officer said, gravely : 

“You had best be silent, Mr. Cassinove, and not commit 
yourself by unadvised words. Your position appears to me 
to be a very serious one.” 

“And, therefore, the greater reason why I should account 
for the circumstances of suspicion in which I was found at the 
bedside of Sir Vincent Lester,” said Mr. Cassinove, firmly; and 
he commenced and gave the same natural explanation that he 
had already given to the assembled household. 

“ I believe it will prove as you say, sir ; but we must de- 
tain all here until a magistrate has taken the evidence,” said 
Doctor Clark, who, now that this matter was settled, sud- 
denly bethought himself of the awfully bereaved widow, and 
inquired : 

“Where is Lady Lester? How has she borne this tre- 
mendous calamity ?” 

. “Her ladyship knows nothing about it yet, sir. We thought 
it was best to wait for your arrival before breaking it to my 
lady,” said the butler. 

“You were quite right; but is it possible that Lady Lester 
has been able to sleep through all this disturbance ?” 

“ It appears so, indeed, sir,” answered the man. 

It was true that the calm, phlegmatic Lady Lester was 
the soundest sleeper in the family, except, perhaps, the fat 
housekeeper, Mrs. Judd, who was also heavily shoring away 
these hours of unparalleled family distress. 

Doctor Clark decided that Lady Lester should be permitted 
to sleep her sleep out, and not be disturbed until her usual 
hour for rising, as when she had breakfasted and conjposed 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


301 


herself for the morninj^, she would be in a better condition to 
bear the terrible shock than she could be now, if roused pre- 
maturely to be told that she was so awfully widowed. 

Day broke and the sun rose upon the distressed household, 
and upon the ghastly form of the murdered man. 

The ‘coroner arrived, and being assisted by two eminent 
magistrates, sat upon the case. After the most careful in- 
vestigation of the circumstances, and a thorough sifting of the 
evidence, they brought in their verdict — 

“ Sir Vincent Lester came to his death on the morning of 
the first of October, between two and three o’clock, by a 
wound inflicted with dagger, in the left ventricle of the 
heart, by the hands of Ferdinand Cassinove.” 

And Ferdinand Cassinove was fully committed to Newgate 
upon the charge of wilful murder. 

A feeling of delicacy towards Laura Elmer, who had not 
been present at the coroner’s inquest, restrained him from 
asking to see her before he was taken away. ' 

But Laura, in her distant chamber, had heard from the ex- 
cited talk of the servants the verdict of the coroner’s inquest; 
and she went down, and waited in the hall until Cassinove 
passed along in custody of the officers. Then she went and 
gave him her hand, saying: 

“Be comforted, Mr, Cassinove ; / know that you are guilt 
less of this charge, and at the day of trial the world shall 
know it, too. I will employ all the faculties that Cod has 
given me in your service; and perhaps the mental acumen 
of a deeply interested woman may be more than equal to tlie 
experience of a detective policeman. T have strong hope.” 

“ Miss Elmer, your unshaken confidence in me is, at this 
hour, my greatest earthly comfort and support. May Cod 
bless you !” replied Cassinove, with deep emotion. 

“ T will be with you again in the course of the day. The 
poor bereaved children of this house must be comforted and 
soothed as soon as they awake to the bitter knowledge of their 
loss. As soon as that duty is performed, I will visit and con- 
sult farther with you. Cood-bye.” 

“ Cood-bye ! good-bye 1 and may Heaven bless you for yom 
goodness, Laura Elmer.” 


802 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


And thus the}^ parted — Cassinove to Newgate, in custody ol 
the officers, and Laura back into the house of mourning. 

It was near noon when Lady Lester’s bell rang ; and it 
was two hours later that the 'family physician sought her 
presence and carefully broke to her the news of her bereave- 
ment. The shock was tremendous, and overwhelmed for the 
moment even her cold, hard, unloving nature. Her atten- 
dants were summoned in haste to put their mistress to bed ; 
and the utmost skill of the physician was taxed to assuage 
her nervous sufferings. 

Laura Elmer waited to be of service ; but almost the first 
intelligible words that Lady Lester sp'oke were — 

“ Has that Miss Elmer gone ?” 

She was answered that Miss Elmer remained to see if she 
could be of any use in the present extreme distress of the 
family. 

“ Tell her no ; beg her to go at once. I could not bear 
the sight of her, I am sure. It was all her doing; all her 
unprincipled coquetry. She flirted with Cassinove, and en- 
couraged Sir Vincent, and played them off, one against the 
other, in the most infamous manner, until she maddened both 
with jealousy, as every one in the house could swear,” said 
her ladyship, breaking into a fresh paroxysm of emotion. 

Laura Elmer had meantime gently and tenderly informed 
the children of the sudden death of their father, withholding 
for the present the manner of his death ; she had borne all 
the burthen of their wild grief until the storm exhausted 
itself for the time ; she had then soothed and comforted them 
in the best manner she could, and left them quiet, in the care 
of their good nurse, Rachel. 

Next she went into the library, and wrote letters to Mr. 
Ruthven Lester, who was then at Bath, and to other near 
friends of the family, telling him merely of the sudden death 
of the baronet, and suggesting the need of their immediate 
presence in the house. She had despatched these letters to 
the post, and was engaged in writing a note, summoning the 
family solicitor, when the door opened, and Dr Clark entered, 
and made known to her the wish of Lady Lester. 

Miss Elmer, now that she had done all that she was able 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


303 


to do for the assistance of the distressed family, and much 
also that others in the excitement of the day had forgotten 
or neglected to perform, was really not sorry to be set at 
liberty. 

“ Shall I go in and take leave of her ladyship ?” inquired 
Laura. 

“ No, I think not. Miss Elmer ; Lady Lester is sleeping 
under the influence of a powerful narcotic, and must not be 
disturbed for hours,” said the doctor, who in no degree 
credited the charges of her ladyship against the noble-look- 
ing girl before him. 

“Then I will leave with you my adieu to Lady Lester, 
and beg you to assure her of my deep sympathv,” said Laura. 

“ I will not fail to do so, or to let her ladyship know how 
much we are all indebted to your self-possession, forethought, 
and activity in the present distressing crisis. You have 
tho\ight of every thing that was forgotten, and done every 
thing that was neglected by others.” 

“ I have done only what I felt constrained to do under the 
circumstances, and if there is any thing else in which I can 
be of use, I hope you will let me know.” 

“ Certainly, Miss Elmer ; you are exceedingly kind and 
disinterested in the assistance you have given this afflicted 
family, especially when your private griefs and anxieties 
must have prevssed heavily upon your mind and heart,” said 
the doctor, kindly. 

At this first word of sympathy Laura’s fine eyes filled 
with tears. 

“ You do not believe Ferdinand Cassinove to be guilty V 
she said. 

“ No, no, on my soul and honor, no ; I have observed tne 
young man ever since he has been in the family ; it is im- 
possible he could have been guilty of such a crime.” 

“ The Lord in heaven bless you for these words.” 

“ But oh I I fear it will be difficult to make a judge and 
jury believe as we do,” said Laura, involuntarily wringing 
her hands over each other in the extremity of her distress. 

“ We must trust in God, employ the most cunning detec- 
tives to trace out the real criminal, and engage the best 
counsel for the defence of the supposed one.” 


304 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ — do you say tve ? Oh, Doctor Clark, am I to understand 
that your sympathies are entirely with us, and that you will 
assist us with your greater experience and advice ?” asked 
Laura, clasping her hands and looking imploringly into the 
good physician’s venerable face. 

“Yes, my child, yes; not only with my advice, but with 
my purse and my active assistance. I consider it a duty, due 
not only to the cause of humanity, but to the cause of justice, 
and not only to the wrongfully-accused prisoner, but to my 
deceased friend, to try to discover the real murderer.” 

“ Heaven bless you. Doctor Clark, for the comfort you 
have given me,” exclaimed Laura Elmer, fervently. 

“ You are going, I heard you say, to visit the young man 
in prison ?” 

“ Yes; he has neither mother nor sister in the world ; he 
has no relative on earth that I know of; he has only me, his 
promised wife, and I must go to him, let the bad world say 
what it will,” said Laura, firmly. 

“You are quite right, my dear ; but Newgate is not ex- 
actly the place to visit alone, especially for the first time. 
You must let me take you there, my dear, and make you 
known to the governor, after which you will be able to repeat 
your visit without the fear of rudeness from the officials. I 
shall be at liberty to attend you at four o’clock this afternoon. 
Ill the meantime, my dear, you had better, for your own 
comfort, see to your removal. Have you secured lodgings ?” 

“ Yes, Doctor Clark, very good ones, with a friend of Mr. 
Cassinove’s, at Chelsea.” 

“ Then send your luggage on at once with a note to your 
landlady. Then, at four o’clock, I will take you to Newgate, 
where we can see and consult with this much-injured young 
man, and afterwards I can set you down at your lodgings,” 
said the venerable physician, as, with an encouraging pres- 
sure of her hand, he left Laura Elmer. 

Miss Elmer despatched the note that she had been writing 
to the family solicitor, and tlien repaired to her chamber, 
packed and sent off her boxes, with a brief note, to Mrs. 
Russel, saying only that she would be with her later in the 
afternoon. 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


305 


Miss Elmer considerately refrained from trying: the spirits 
of the distressed children, by taking a formal leave of them, 
and contented herself by leaving with the nurse an affec- 
tionate message for the little girls. 

Punctually at four o’clock the doctor’s carriage was at the 
door, and Laura, accompanied by her kind old friend, departed 
for that old abode of sin and sorrow, Newgate. 

A half-hour’s ride brought them to* the gloomy prison. 

Doctor Clark took Miss Elmer first into the apartments of 
the governor, to whom he made some communication apart 
to secure his protegee civility and attention in her future 
visits to the prison. 

Then, attended by an officer, they went to the cell in which 
Ferdinand Cassinove was confined. 

The young man received them calmly and even cheerfully ; 
thanking Doctor Clark for his attention in escorting Laura 
Elmer to the prison, and silently blessing his betrothed with 
a most eloquent glance for the comfort she brought in coming 
to visit him. He had recovered from the first stunning effect 
of his arrest and imprisonment upon the heinous charge of 
murder, and was prepared to take a calm view of his position 
and prospects. He offered the only chair in his cell to Miss 
Eimer, and invited Doctor Clark to sit beside him on the cot 
bedstead. Then the three entered into conversation upon the 
best course to be pursued for his defence. Cassinove again 
repeated to his friends all the circumstances of his presence 
in the bed-chamber of Sir Vincent immediately after the 
murder. The doctor advised him to reduce that statement 
carefully to writing, and to put it into the hands of his coun- 
sel. He then informed the young man of tlie determination 
that Miss Elmer and himself had come to, namely, to employ 
the most cunning detectives in searching for the discovery of 
the murderer, and engaging the most eminent counsel in de- 
fending the case of the prisoner. And that he should take 
this course, not only in respect to humanity and justice en- 
dangered in the person of his young friend, but in regard to 
old friendships in that of his deceased patron. 

Cassinove thanked him with deep emotion. They remained 
consulting with, encouraging and comforting the young man. 
19 


306 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


nntil the hour arrived at which the prison-doors were to bo 
closed for the night, and then, with the promise to send an 
eminent lawyer to see the prisoner in the morning, and to 
visit him every day, the good doctor took leave, and brought 
Miss, Elmer away. 

And in another hour he set her down at Daisy Cottage, 
Hay-lane, Chelsea. 


CHAPTER XXYL 

THE NOCTURNAL VISIT. 


Aud hollow, strangfe, unprecedented sounds, 
And earnest whisperings ran along the halls 
At dead of night ; and long, deep, endless sighs 
Came from the dreary room. — Pollock. 


The sun was setting when Laura Elmer alighted from the 
doctor’s carriage, bade him good-afternoon, and entered the 
little gate leading up a shaded walk to the door of Laburnum 
cottage, at the head of Hay-lane, where Mrs. Russel kept her 
little shop, and let her neat lodgings. 

Miss Elmer did not know whether Mrs. Russel had as yet 
heard of the tragedy at Lester House, and its calamitous con- 
sequences to their mutual friend, and she almost dreaded to 
meet her landlady. 

But the moment Mrs. Russel opened the door in answer to 
her knock. Miss Elmer saw that she knew the worst. The 
poor little woman’s eyes were red and swollen with tears, and 
her first words were ; 

“ Oh, Miss Elmer ! Oh, Miss Elmer ! what shall I do I” 

“ Trust in God and do all that we can,” replied Laura, in a 
low voice, as she pressed the hand that was held out to her. 

* Oh, you say that, Miss Elmer, but you do not know all 
the poor young gentleman was to me and my children, or you 
jcould not speak so calmly. He was almost our only friend ; 
he would, and, indeed, he did, divide his last sovereign with 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


807 


US. I loved him like a brother,” exclaimed the poor woman, 
speaking of Cassinove in the past tense, as one already dead. 

She conducted Miss Elmer into tlie neat back parlor, where 
a bright little fire was burning, while the last beams of the 
setting sun were glancing through the vine-shaded windows, 
and the little table was neatly set for tea. 

She relieved Miss Elmer of her bonnet and mantle, and 
placed her in the pleasantest seat, between the cheerful win 
dow and the lively fire and the cosy table. 

She poured out the tea, and served her guest with toast, 
and then her spirits quite broke down. 

‘‘ I remember it was under just such circumstances that 
Jonathan Bradford, poor man, was executed. He heard a 
cry of murder in the night, and rushed into his guest’s bed- 
room, just in time to see the murderer escape by the open 
window. He picked up the razor with which the victim’s 
throat had been cut, and was found with it, standing over 
the murdered man, by the assembled household. It was no 
use for him to explain ; his innocence did him no good 
with the judge and jury, and he was hanged, and it was years 
and years after that the real murderer, who was brought to the 
gallows for another crime, confessed the deed for which poor 
Jonathan Bradford was executed. And so it will be with poor 
Mr! Cassinove — I know it. I know it. Oh, oh, oh, what 
shall I do ?” cried the poor woman, bursting into a fresh flood 
of tears. 

“ Oh, heaven ! let us hope not. Such a case as that of 
poor Bradford should be a warning forever against the ac- 
ceptation of circumstantial evidence, and must be a power- 
ful argument against the conviction of Mr. Cassinove I” ex- 
claimed Laura Elmer, appalled at the picture of probabilities 
sketched by Mrs Russel. 

“ But the circumstances are even stronger against poor Mr. 
Cassinove. He was not only found with the dagger, standing 
over the murdered man, but he was accused by the. dying 
words of Sir 'Vincent as the murderer,” said Mrs. Russel, who 
seemed fated to take the gloomiest view of the case ; and, 
indeed, whose many sorrows had taught her always to 
despair rather than to hope. 


308 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


But I wouldn’t believe it I I wouldn’t believe it I no, 
not if Sir Vincent, instead of being a worldly baronet, bad 
been a saintly bishop, and had sworn it on the holy Bible 
with his last breath 1” she added, indignantly. 

“I do not think that the last rather incoherent words of 
Sir Vincent Lester should be construed into a,n accusation 
of Mr. Lassinove, since there was no name mentioned.” 

“ But the judge and jury will construe it so, you’ll see,” 
sighed the desponding woman. 

“ I hope not ; I believe wherever there is a reasonable 
doubt, an English jury will lean to the side of mercy,” said 
the hopeful girl. 

“ Did they do it on the coroner’s inquest ? No, the blood- 
thirsty wretches, they did not !”* 

“ Do not be unjust, Mrs. Russel : remember that the coro- 
ner’s jury only by their verdict sent the case up to a higher 
court. Great injustice has been done to Mr. Cassinove ; but 
let us not, therefore, too severely blame those who con- 
scientiously performed their duty.” 

“ Oh, you do not take his part zealously, because you do 
not feel as I do about him. The dear young gentleman was 
nothing to you, Miss Elmer. And now that he is in disgrace 
dowm there in Newgate, under the charge of murder, having 
his name bruited all over the earth as the assassin of his 
patron, and all the world calling down imprecations upon 
him as an unnatural monster, with the certainty of an igno- 
minious death, and a shameful grave before him, perhaps it 
would not be discreet in a young lady to speak a word in his 
defence, or even to acknowledge that she had ever known 
him,” said Mrs. Russel, bitterly, for many disappointments, 
wrongs, and sorrow^s had infused a good deal of the rue into 
her composition. 

Laura Elmer’s fine face flushed all over. The tears rushed 
to her dark eyes. She loved Mrs. Russel for her warm, 
earnest, angry defence of Cassinove. She arose and grasped 
the hand of her landlady, and her voice vibrated deeply with 
her strong emotion, as she said : 

‘‘I .am the betrothed wdfe of Ferdinand Cassinove. I stood 
by him iij, his trouble ; I visited him in prison ; I have but 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


309 


Just left Ills cell ; I sliall visit him daily ; and if discreet 
friends object to that, I shall redeem my pledge by giving 
him my hand, and winning the wife’s privilege of remaining 
with him to the last.” 

“ Is it so? Oh, Miss Elmer, is it so? And I have been so 
unjust in my thoughts of you 1 On my knees I would beg 
your pardon I You have a noble heart ! a great, grand 
heart I And I could so mistake you I I saw that you looked 
pale and haggard when you came in, but I thought that you 
were only fatigued and indisposed, and that a cup of tea 
would set you right ; and I was, besides, too much absorbed 
in my distress about my poor young Cassinove to think much 
about any thing else. But now — but now — oh I my dear 
young lady, how much you really do suffer I I see it in yvm. 
Oh, my dear, command me. I will do any thing on earth to 
serve you or him 1” said Mrs. Russel, sobbing afresh. 

“ I thank you from my heart, dear friend. I know that 
you are a true friend to Mr. Cassinove. I will be sure to let 
you know if you can do any thing more for him than give 
him your welcome sympathy,” said Laura Elmer, warmly. 

“ You may be snre he has that always. You saw him in 
prison to-day ? How is the dear, young gentleman ? How 
does he bear his misfortune ?” 

“Like himself: thinking more of the sorrows of other? 
than of his own danger ; thinking more of the dead baronet, 
sent prematurely to his account, and the awfully bereaved 
and afflicted friends, than of his own sufferings and perils.” 

“ God bless him I God deliver him !” 

“ He will I He has already raised up a zealous and power- 
ful friend in Dr. Clark. I shall also write to my friend, the 
young Duchess of Beresleigh, and may count upon her influ- 
ence with the duke. They will, in all probability, be here 
before the trial comes on. And though wealth and rank can- 
not always turn aside the course of justice, yet in a case of 
injustice such as this, it is well to have powerful friends at 
work for us. I shall, besides, follow a slight clue that I have 
to the real murderer.” 

“A clue to the real murderer I” exclaimed the landUdy, in 
a sort of fury of exultation. 


810 


THE BRIDAL EYE. 


“ V’cs — hush ! the utmost secrecy and caution will be neces- 
sar}’ to my success.’’ 

“ Why did you not give this clue at the inquest ?” 

“ Lx^cause, in the first consternation and anguish produced 
by the discovery of the murder and the accusation of Ferdi- 
nand Orfssinove, it had not occurred to me. Besides, the 
clue is svy slight that no one but myself would think it of the 
least impv^rtance ; it is only a private conviction that proves 
to me its value. And lastly, this clue, to lead us to discovery, 
must be ndlowed up with the utmost caution. To have it 
discussed would only be to warn those whom I wish to take 
off their gUi.i*d.” , . 

“ But how can you investigate the truth without speaking 
of this clue ?'• 

“I shall Sv-t Doctor Clark to seek out one of those 
thorough-bred oleuth-hounds of the police called detectives. 
To such an ono, under the strictest injunctions to secrecy, I 
shall give the clu'j, that he may. use his utmost skill and experi- 
ence in following it up. You look at me in surprise and 
wonder. Well, I know that you are faitt^ul, and devoted to 
Mr. Cassinovc, yet, as a secret is no longer a secret when 
shared by two, I must require you to give me your word of 
honor never to mention the circumstance before I confide it 
to your keeping,” said Miss Elmer. 

“I give you my word of honor that I will never divulge 
the secret with which you intrust me ; yet. Miss Elmer, if 
you have any doubt upon the subject, do not tell me.” 

“ I have none at all. Forgive me if my anxiety upon Mr. 
Cassinove’s account has made me overcautious; and now 
listen.” And Laura Elmer related to Mrs. Russel the events 
at Lester House connected with the mysterious inmate, 
Helen Ravenscroft, and the stranger who dogged her carriage 
in the park, dwelling especially upon the extreme agitation 
and the inexplicable words of Sir Vincent, when he heard 
the circumstances from her own lips, and the subsequent 
midnight interview between Sir Vincent and the stranger, 
whom she had accidentally discovered through the open 
library door, while going down to.Bic drawing-room to 
recover a forgotten book with which she wished to read her- 
self to sleep upon the night in question. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


311 


** Now,” concluded Miss Elmer, “ I have nothing but my 
own instincts to guide me in my judgment, that this un- 
known man is the murderer of Sir Yiucent. I shall there- 
fore instruct Mr. Cassinove’s counsel to subpoena this Helen 
Ravenscroft as a witness for the defence, and have her 
examined if she can be found. She has disappeared from 
the house for the last few weeks.” 

Laura Elmer spoke with an earnestness and an absorption 
in her subject that rendered her unobservant to its effects 
upon Mrs. Russel. Now, however, she looked up to see 
the eyes of the poor woman wide open with astonishment, 
and her cheeks white with fear. Laura Elmer noted these 
signs of emotion, and proceeded — • 

“Now, Mrs. Russel, this man must be found, his peculiar 
relations with the family of Sir Vincent Lester must be 
explained ; and by these means I have strong hopes that the 
truth may be discovered, and Mr. Cassinove’s innocence 
made manifest.” 

The landlady replied not one word, but her eyes seemed 
o grow larger and larger in amazement. 

“ Mrs. Russel, you can materially aid us in the discovery 
of this strange man,” said Laura Elmer, fixing her eyes upon 
the face of the other. 

“ Me I me ! how ever could I help you ?” exclaimed the 
landlady, in consternation, clasping and ^wringing her pale 
fingers. 

“I will explain. Upon the very first meeting of Mrs. 
Ravenscroft and this unknown, your children, who were 
near at hand, recognized the man, and called your own atten- 
tion to him. You can tell us who he is.” 

“ Oh, my Lord! my Lord ! how sorrows and difficulties 
thicken around me 1” exclaimed the poor woman, wildly. 

“ This man was recognized by your children! as the one 
who robbed your shop, and wdiom you so strangely refused 
to prosecute. Mrs. Russel, I adjure you to tell me — who was 
this man ?” inquired Laura Elmer, firmly. 

“ Oh, my Lord I my Lord ! to what straits am I reduced-l^ 
cried the woman, distractedly. 

Who wuas this man ?” 


312 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ Ob, do not make me tell you ! do not I it cannot serve 
you or Mr. Cassinove to know I” 

All the strong will of Laura Elmer was aroused. She 
arose f”om her seat, and standing before the distressed 
woman took both her wrists, and held them firmly, and 
gazing with magnetic power into her eyes, into her soul, said — 
‘‘ Mrs. Russel, I will not appeal to your friendship, or 
gratitude, or compassion for your benefactor suffering horri- 
bly under the dreadful imputation of murder, and in immi- 
nent peril of dying a shameful death ” 

“ Oh, no ! don’t ! don’t I don’t !” cried the woman. 

“ But to your sense of justice,” continued Laura, gazing 
with a controlling power into the eyes of the ►shrinking wo- 
man. “Mrs. Russel, justice is the most s».^red thing on 
earth — it is above friendship, gratitude, compassion, family 
interest, family ties, every thing under heaven I In the 
sacred name of justice, 1 adjure you, tell me who is this 
man ?” 

“ Oh, it would avail you little to know I He is one with 
whom I was intimate long ago. I had not seen him for 
years when I saw him for an instant that day in the park. I 
have not seen him 'since. I do not know where he is. I have 
not even the least knowledge whether he is in or out o^ Eng- 
land. I know no more of him, so help me Heaven.” 

“ Mrs. Russel,” continued Laura, without for an instant 
withdrawing her controlling gaze, “you are believed to be a 
widow — are you such ?” 

“ In fate ; but not in fact !” 

“ This man, then, was your husband ?” 

“Yes, yes 1” 

“ He left you ?” 

“ He was obliged to do it.” 

“ He was a fugitive from justice ?” 

“ Yes, yes ! Oh, it is very cruel to say so 1’' 

“No, it is only just. His name, then, is Russel V' 

“ Ob, no !” 

“ Whatl Then you do not go by his name ?” 

“ No, no ! I would not, after — after he fled 1 ” 

** Why not ?” 


THE B KID A L EVE. 


313 


“It would have ruined me ! I took my maiden name, and 
■ aioved into another neighborhood where I was not known. I 
dressed in widow’s weeds because it seemed more quiet and 
respectaljle for a lone young mother struggling through the 
world 1 God forgive me, I did not mean to act a falsehood 1” 

“ What was the nature of this crime which was so heinc as 
as to compel the innocent wife of the criminal to change her 
/ name and place of residence to escape reflected ruin ?” 

“ Oh, do not ask me I Do not I do not !” cried poor Mrs. 
Russel, while shudders of horror convulsed her fragile form. 

“ It could have been no ordinary crime ! The unfortunate 
wives of homicides are not obliged to change their names and 
neighborhoods. Well, I will not insist upon the nature of 
the man’s offence against society. But in the name and for 
the sake of stern justice, I must have his real name I” 

“ Oh ! to tell you that will be to tell you all I” cried the 
poor woman, in an agony of distress. 

“I adjure you, Mrs. Russel, in the sacred cause of justice, 
tell me the name of that man !” 

“ Oh ! oh ! stoop, then ! Stoop close then I I cannot bear 
to speak it aloud — looking in your face, with your eyes upon 
me !” 

Laura Elmer stooped her ear close to the woman’s lips, 
saying— V ^ 

“ Courage ! It is but a word 1” 

Mrs. Russel shivered through all her frame, as she whis- 
pered — 

“It was ” 

The last word, the fatal name, was audible only to Laura 
Elmer, who suddenly dropped the hands of the woman, and, 
appalled by horror, sank into the nearest seat. 

And no word was spoken between them for some minutes. 
At last— 

“ Heaven have mercy on you, most miserable of women I” 
said Miss Elmer. 

And, rising, she went and took and pressed her hands, 
saying— 

“Forgive me if I have deeply probed your sorely wounded 
heart, and believe me I will deal as tenderly by your feelings 
as I can in justice to another.” 


314 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ I know it, Miss Elmer 1 T know it I You are perfectly . 
right. Do not consider me in the slightest degree. Go on, 
and ‘In justice be done, though the heavens fall.’” 

And longer the friends talked ; but the dreaded name was 
not again mentioned between them. The two children who 
had been sent out into the garden to play now came in, and 
the confidential conversation was interrupted. 

Mrs. Russel showed her lodger up into her private apart 
ments where fires had been lighted, and her luggage con- 
veyed, and bade her good-night at the bed-room door. 

Laura entered the neat and quiet chamber, w^here the snow- 
white curtains of the window's and the bed, and the clean 
hearth and bright fire, diffused an air of purity and cheerful- 
ness through the scene. 

She could not sleep ; but drawing an easy-chair beside the 
little table before the fire, she fell into deep and severe thought 
upon the subject of the probable assassin of the baronet. 

Painfully and intensely as she thought, she was still, as it 
W'ere, externally conscious of the sounds without. She heard 
Ruth Russel and her children moving about; she heard the 
murmuring of their evening prayers at their mother’^ knee ; 
she heard that poor mother take them into the little chamber 
adjoining the back-parlor below; and the muffled shuffling 
with which the little ones got to bed ; next she heard Mrs. 
Russel return to the back-parlor, and settle herself in her 
seat, probably to sew for hours, — for every sound w'as audible 
all over that small house. At last all was perfectly quiet, 
nothing breaking the silence except the hourly striking of the 
old-fashioned clock in the passage below'. Laura sat intently 
thinking as the hours slowly passed. The clock struck twelve, 
and still she sat and thought ; one, and still she never changed 
her attitude; tw'o and she had not even once looked up, or re- 
membered that it w'as at that witching hour on the preced- 
ing night that the awTul cry of murder had rung through 
Lester House, appalling the inmates, arousing the sleepers. 
She was still buried in thought betw'ecn two and three o’clock, 
when she was startled by the sound of a step heard in the 
deep silence, coming up the w'alk from the little gate to the 
cottage door. Every thing alarmed her now ; she listened 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


315 


and heard a light, cautious tapping at the cottage door, and 
Heard the landlady go to the door, and ask in a low, trembling 
voice : 

“ Who’s there ? What do you want?” 

“It is I, Ruth, and I want to come in,” answered a low 
voice without. 

“ Oh, my Lord in heaven, have pity on us I Oh ! why do 
you come here?” inquired the poor woman, in a low, suffocat- 
ing voice. 

“Because I am dying to see you and the children, Ruth. 
Think what a long exile I have had from you both, my 
dear.” 

“Oh, where do you come from, and why do you come, 
knowing the danger ?” 

“ I come from abroad, because I could not longer live away 
from you, Ruth. I have been but a few hours in London, 
and have only within the last hour discovered your resi- 
dence.” 

“ But the danger ! the danger of returning I” 

“Bah ! my dear, I am forgotten; besides, the ‘danger’ is 
very much modified by an event that has occurred within the 
last twenty-four hours. But all this time you are keeping 
me out in the cold. Come, let me in, there’s a duck.” 

“ Oh, heaven of heavens, to what straits I am reduced I’^ 
again complained the poor woman. 

“ Come, come, Ruth, this is a very cold reception. Un- 
bar the door, there’s a darling.” 

Sobbing bitterly, Mrs. Russel unbarred the door, and ad- 
mitted the nocturnal visitor. 

Still sobbing bitterly she said something about a “lodger,” 
and from that moment the conversation was carried on in so 
low a whisper, that although Laura Elmer heard the mur- 
muring, she could not distinguish the words. This low, mut- 
tering conversation went on all night — went on till day was 
dawning in the east, when Laura Elmer, worn out by two 
nights’ watching, dropped asleep in her chair, and slept 
heavily for many hours. 

When she awoke it was broad day ; the sun was high in 
the heavens. She opened her eyes and looked around in 


316 


THE BRIDAL EYE. 


astonishment at finding herself in a strange place, and it was 
some seconds before she could remember how she came there. 
Then full consciousness of her misfortunes returned : the 
murder of Sir Vincent Lester; the imprisonment of Ferdi- 
nand Cassinove ; her own change of residence ; the discovery 
in regard to Mrs. Russel’s husband; and, lastly, the strange 
nocturnal visit, all recurred clearly to her memory. 

Her resolution was soon taken. She arose and bathed her 
feverish face, and arranged her disordered hair, and then ^ang 
her bell. 

Mrs. Russel, pale and haggard, as with fatigue and care, 
entered the room, saying : 

“ I hope you rested well. Miss Elmer.” 

“ No ; I have not been in bed all night. I have something 
to say to you this morning, Mrs. Russel ; but first sit down ; 
you look, indeed, quite unable to stand.” 

Mrs. Russel dropped into the nearest seat. 

Miss Elmer resumed her easy-chair, saying : 

‘‘ I am exceedingly sorry for you, Mrs. Russel, but that 
does not alter the course of my duty. I must tell you that I 
heard the arrival of your visitor last night, and overheard 
much of your conversation, by which I was enabled to identify 
the individual. This morning I must lay before the police 
all the particulars W'ith which I have become acquainted, as 
well as my own private suspicions. As I cannot consistently 
continue in your house while engaged in this ungracious 
work, I must leave you to-day. But you will permit me to 
pay you for the whole term for which my lodgings were en- 
gaged ; and I wish you, besides, to rest assured of my esteem 
and friendship, and willing services in every thing in which 
I can aid you without injuring the cause of justice.” 

“ Miss Elmer, I cannot complain, cruelly as I suffer in this 
affair ; I know that you are perfectly right in all that you do. 
But poor as I am, I cannot and will not receive payment for 
the lodgings that you have occupied only a day, and that you 
leave this morning, not from caprice, but from a sort of ne- 
cessity,” said Mrs. Russel, weeping piteously. 

“ I am glad you perceive I can dp no otherwise than I am 
about to do. But for your children’s sake, I wish you would 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


317 


pe.-rmit me to pay for the whole term for which I took the 
lodgings', it is usual to do so when one leaves before the term 
is up.” 

“ Yes ; but not when they have been occupied but for a 
day, and are left from necessity; so let us say no more about 
it, Miss Elmer.” 

Laura perceived that to press this point would only wound 
the sensitive self-respect of the poor woman, and desisted. 

“ You forbear making any inquiries about my visitor of last 
night, Miss Elmer ; yet this piece of information I will volun 
teer. He is off again, and I know not where he has gone, or 
when he will come back, or if he ever will return,” said Mrs, 
Russel. 

“And after the manner of such villains, he has taken away 
all your funds with him ?” said Laura, indignantly. 

Mrs. Russel evidently could not deny this fact. 

“ Then I will tell you when he will return — as soon as that 
money is exhausted. Mrs. Russel, I should think you would 
be glad of any law that would free you entirely from such a 
beast of prey.” 

“Ah 1 but my children.” 

“Even for their sake it were well that such a moral leper 
were swept from the face of the earth, lest the very relation- 
ship should contaminate them. Were I in your place, I 
should deliver that monster up to justice with less compunc- 
tion than ever I killed a venomous serpent. I should do it 
to save my children from the fatal infection of his presence 
and example. I should consider my mother-duty the most 
sacred on earth. Oh I it is a lamentable weakness in any 
woman to shield a worthless and depraved man, at the risk 
of perpetuating an evil example to her innocent children. 
And, Mrs. Russel, I think that I shall be doing you and them 
a good service in bringing this incorrigible villain to justice,” 
said this severe young Nemesis, who was beginning to lose 
patience at the maudlin weakness of the flesh betrayed by 
poor Ruth Russel. 

“Ah ! but you don’t know. You haven’t been tried in 
such a way. Resides, if ever you were to talk with him, you 
would not think so ill of him,” said the meek little woman. 


318 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ 1 am very sorry for you. I do not willingly wound you, 
only I would be glad to see you with a clearer moral vision^ 
and a greater moral strength,” replied Laura, gently. 

“ 1 do not complain. And now, Miss Elmer, you will at 
least breakfast before you go.” 

“ Yes ; thank you.” 

“And when shall I order a cab ?” 

“Immediately after breakfast, if you please, Mrs. Russel." 

The landlady left the room to fulfil these directions, and 
immediately after breakfast Miss Elmer went out in a cab to 
procure new lodgings. Her circumstances did not permit 
her to be fastidious. She secured the most respectable lodg- 
ings to be found nearest to Newgate, and into them she re- 
moved in the course of the same forenoon. 

She sent her new address to Doctor Clark, with a request 
that he would call upon her at his earliest convenience. 

And the good doctor, astonished at the change of quarters, 
for which he could not account, called on her in the afternoon. 

He found Miss Elmer busily writing at the centre-table of 
her gloomy new parlor. She arose to meet him, saying ; 

“This is very, very kind. Doctor Clark. You find me 
making minutes of a chain of evidence, or rather of probabili- 
ties which I wish to submit to you. I feel convinced that I 
have got the clue to the real murderer of Sir Vincent.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed the doctor, in amazement, “ let me 
hear !” 

Miss Elmer commenced and related all the circumstances 
of her fragmentary acquaintance with Sir Vincent Lester’s 
protegee, Helen Ravenscroft ; the mysterious stranger that 
waylaid and followed her carriage ; the midnight interview, 
and angry words that passed between this stranger and the 
baronet upon the occasion when she accidentally discovered 
them together ; and finally, the conversation that had recently 
passed between herself and poor Ruth Russel, in which she 
was enabled to put certain disjointed incidents together, and 
identify the mysterious “ light-haired man” with a certain no- 
torious criminal who had fled from justice years before. 

“Now deep in my heart is the conviction that this man 
and no other was the assassin of this unfortunate baronet,” 
concluded Laura. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


319 


** Good heaven 1 and yet you do not know the circumstanco 
that makes that the most probable thing in the world ?” ex- 
claimed the doctor. 

Laura looked up, full of interest. 

“ That criminal fled from trial, and Sir Vincent Lester was 
the principal witness against him ; indeed, without the testi- 
mony of Sir Vincent Lester, I doubt if it would have be(!n 
possible to convict him,” said the doctor. 

“And there is the motive establislied at once for the as- 
sassination 1” exclaimed Laura, with increasing excitement. 

“ Yes, the very strongest motive that can possibly actuate 
human nature — that of self-preservation.” 

“ Oh, then, let us go at once to some magistrate and lodge 
this information, procure a warrant for the arrest of this man, 
and, if possible, an order for the liberation of Mr. Cas- 
sinove.” 

The doctor smiled compassionately, saying — 

“Ladies know but little of the formulas of law, my dear 
Miss Elmer, else you would be aware that though we may 
procure a warrant for the arrest of this man, we cannot possi- 
bly procure the liberation of young Cassinove. Having been 
duly committed to prison to answer the charge of murder, he 
must remain a prisoner until his trial shall have ended in bis 
acquittal or ” 

The doctor left the other words unspoken. 

“ Oh ! but that is very hard !” said Laura. 

“It is; and I must remind you of another set of circum- 
stances — namely, that the evidence against Ferdinand Cassi- 
nove, whom we believe to be innocent, is much stronger than 
that against the man whom we believe to be the assassin of 
Sir Vincent. Indeed, I doubt whether you have any evidence 
to give that would justify any magistrate in issuing a warrant 
for arresting the man upon the charge of having murdei’ed 
Sir Vincent Lester. If a warrant should be issued for his 
arrest at all, it will probably be upon the old charge. But 
we can soon satisfy ourselves. We will repair at once to a 
magistrate and lodge the information we possess. I will 
wait 'while you put on your bonnet.” 

Laura Elmer did not keep the good doctor waiting five 


820 


THE ^BRIDAL EVE. 


minutes, but went into her adjoining chamber, and in a few 
seconds returned, shawled, bon netted, and gloved for the ex- 
pedition. The doctor handed her into his carriage, and they 
set out for Bow street. 

Arrived there, they had to wait some time before the 
magistrate was at leisure to attend to them ; and when at 
length he was disengaged, the doctor requested that the 
office might be cleared, as the information he had to give had 
best be given in private. The character and position of Doctor 
Clark insured a prompt attention to his request. When the 
office was cleared of all except the magistrate, his clerk, the 
doctor, and Miss Elmer, the latter advanced, and being sworn, 
made her statement. Now every thing, even remotely con 
nected with the tragedy of Lester House, was of the utmost 
interest to the authorities. Miss- Elmer’s statement received 
a candid and attentive hearing, and the magistrate thought 
the information of sufficient importance to justify him in is- 
suing a warrant for the apprehension of the accused. 

Miss Elmer and Doctor Clark had the satisfaction of seeing 
this warrant placed in the hands of an experienced officer be- 
fore leaving the magistrate’s office. 

From Bow street they repaired to Newgate to comfort the 
prisoner there with the intelligence of the clue they had ob- 
tained to the real assassin. 

Meantime, the officer with the warrant sought the accused 
first of all at the cottage of his wife in Chelsea; but Bulh 
Russel and her children had flitted with all their luggage, nor 
could any one tell whither they had gone. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


321 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

THE DUCHESS OF BERESLEIGH AT HOME. 


Festal joy 

Laughs in the mantling goblet, and the night, 
Illumed by the splendid, dazzling light, 
Rivals departed day. — Brown. 


Erom gloom to glare ; from the prisoner’s cell at Newgate 
to the drawing-room at Beresleigh House. 

Beresleigh House was one blaze of light. Crowds of car- 
riages blocked up the way for some distance up and down 
the street before the front of the house. The occasion was 
this : — The young Duke and Duchess of Beresleigh had re- 
turned from their bridal tour, and were receiving their “dear 
five hundred friends” at home. 

The drawing-rooms, superbly furnished, beautifully adorned, 
and brilliantly lighted, were filled with the beauty, fashion, 
and celebrity of society. 

At one end the young duchess, the beautiful and happy 
bride, stood to receive her guests; the loveliest where many 
were lovely. 

Her dress was arranged with her usual artistic taste. It 
consisted of a full lace robe, light as a gossamer, worn over 
rose-colored silk, delicate blush roses in her lair, and pearl 
ornaments on her neck and arms. Never had Rose been 
happier than upon this evening, though even now she was not 
perfectly happy. We are never any of us so at any moment 
of our lives. The brightest sunshine casts the darkest 
shadows. The shadow of Rose’s light was the thought of 
Ferdinand Cassinove pining in his prison cell, and of Laura 
Elmer sorrowing in her gloomy lodgings. But the heart of 
Rose was full of hope ; she had great confidence in the in- 
nocence of Cassinove, and great faith in Providence ; she was 
doing, and she meant to do, all in her power to serve Cassi- 
nove ; and she had in her own heart not a single doubt either 
9f the perfect rectitude of young Cassinove, or of his final 
20 


S22 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


acquittal and full exoneration from suspicion. Therefore she 
put away all pensiveness ; turned her back upon the shadow 
and faced the sunshine; dispensed her smiles with equal sin- 
cerity and affability ; and even, at length, joined the dance. 
It was while she was still dancing that she noticed her own 
especial footman lingering near the door, as if anxious, yet 
afraid, to enter. 

Seeing this, and surmising that he might be the bearer of 
some note from Laura Elmer, she took the earliest oppor- 
tunity, when the dance was over, to move near the door, and 
beckon the man to her side. 

He came in, and drawing near, said — 

“I beg pardon, your grace, but there is a person below 
who is very urgent to see you upon the most important 
business.” 

“A person. What sort of a person. Miller 

“A gentlemanly individual, your grace.” 

“And what is his business ?” 

“ He says he can communicate it to no one but your grace 
in person.” 

“Oh, it is probably one of the Hastings! You know. 
Colonel and Mr. Hastings, Miller ? If the visitor be either 
of those gentlemen, say that I declineAo receive him.” 

“Your grace, it is neither Colonel nor Mr. Hastings. It 
is a perfect stranger, whom I never saw at the house before. 
He is very urgent to see your grace, indeed.” 

“ Well, show him into the library. Miller, and say that I 
will see him there in a few minutes. And do you yourself be 
there in attendance.” 

“Yes, your grace,” said the servant, bowing and retiring. 

And the young duchess, more than ever convinced that the 
“ gentlemanly individual” below must be a messenger from 
Laura Elmer, prepared to give him audience. « 

She crossed the room to the place where the dowager 
.Duchess of Beresleigh, glowing in crimson velvet, sparkling 
in diamonds, and nodding in white ostrich-plumes, stood the 
admiring and admired centre of a circle of literary and 
political lions, artists, authors, orators, actors. No celeority 
in any order of art, science, or literature, ever came amiss t^ 
her most gracious grace. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


323 


Rose floated gracefullj to her side, saying — 

Mamma” (as the motherless young creature delighted to 
call her beloved mother-in-law), “ mamma, there is a person 
in the library waiting to see me ; I think, I am almost sure, 
that he comes from Mr. Cassinove or Miss Elmer.” 

“Ah ! poor, unhappy Miss Elmer I 1 wish she were heie 
to-night I Why are people of genius always so unhappy?’^ 
exclaimed the duchess. 

“I do not know,” said Rose, simply; “but, mamma, I 
suppose I may withdraw from the room for a while, and see 
this person without impropriety.” 

“Assuredly, my love; 'see him by all means. Ah, poor 
Miss Elmer,” sighed the dowager, sincerel}^ as she turned 
again towards her circle, “ she is one of the noblest among 
women, my dear Lady Morgan ! one of the natural queens 
of society, Mr. Kemble ! But she has had terrible vicissi- 
tudes. However, you all knowJier story; it was made pub- 
lic in the celebrated Swinburne case, decided a year ago by 
the House of Lords, which gave me the sweetest little 
daughter-in-law in the world.” 

Thus the Duchess dowager talked to her friends. 

Meanwhile Rose floated gracefully away on her errand of 
benevolence. ' 

She entered the library, which was lighted but by one 
chandelier hanging from the ceiling over the central table. 
At this table stood a rather “ shabby-genteel” looking man, 
with his back turned, and his hands in his pockets. 

Rose, kindly wishing to put this impoverished-looking 
gentleman at his ease, advanced towards him, speaking pleas- 
antly, and saying — 

“You have come to me from Miss Elmer or Mr. Cassi- 
nove ? Pray take a seat, sir.” 

“No, madam, I have not come from Mr. Cassinove or 
Miss Elmer,” said the visitor, in a singularly sweet and clear 
voice, as he turned around and bowed deeply to the young 
duchess. 

Rose then saw before her a fine-looking man, with a tall 
and graceful figure, a stately head, well covered with glossy, 
light yellow hair, that waved around a forehead broad, white, 


824 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


and open as that of boyhood ; delicately-arched eyebrows, 
clear, gentle, blue eyes, straight nose, full, finely-curved lips, 
all blended into a charming expression of kindliness and gay 
good-humor. 

As the young duchess looked up at this face smiling sweetly 
down upon hers, her own countenance went through many 
rapid changes ; first a vague surprise, then a fearful suspicion, 
lastly a horrified recognition, as, with that cry of anguish we 
all utter in our extremity — 

“0/?., tny God P’’ 

She threw ‘her hands up to her face, reeled back, and sank 
upon the sofa. The visitor deliberately crossed the room, 
folded his arms across his broad chest, and standing before 
her, said — 

“ My sudden appearance has startled you, madam the 
duchess I Your grace scarcely expected to see me here !” 

There are shocks so great that they kill the weak and 
Uun the strong into a state resembling calmness. This was 
such an one to the young duches.‘. It did not a'u.s!) — it 
calmed her. Though pale as death, she quietly motioned 
her strange visitor to a seat, and when he had taken it, 
said — 

“ In the name of heaven, have you returned from the grave 
to ruin me 

“ No, mine own ; I have returned only from the Continent. 
I am no ghost, but solid flesh and blood, as I can soon con- 
vince you,” said the visitor, gayly, rising and holding out his 
arms, as if to embrace her. 

“ Stop ! no nearer, on your life and soul 1” said Rose, 
speaking in a deep, stern voice, that sounded strangely and 
fearfully from those bloodless lips, and extending her hand in 
a forbidding gesture. 

He sank back in his chair, regarding her with wonder and 
curiosity. 

“ In the name of heaven, I adjure you to tell me — why did 
you give out a report of your own death ? why have you 
a.'>sented yourself so many years ? and why have you 
rev urn ed now ?” 

‘‘Hal ha I ha I” laughed the stranger, throwing himself 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


325 


back in his chair, “ this is a pretty reception to give me, 
after a four years’ absence.” 

“ Once more I adjure you, by the righteous Judge of quick 
and dead, tell me why you have practised this long and fatal 
deception ?” 

“ Sweet partner of all my joys and sorrows, I do not 
know that I have any right to keep the secret from you. I 
will tell you, then. I fled, as you know, from a criminal 
charge of a monstrous nature, and of Which it would have 
been very difficult to prove my innocence. I ingeniously 
spread the report of m}^ own death to stop pursuit, and 
obtain — oblivion. After four years’ absence, when I sup- 
posed myself to be forgotten, I returned to England — can 
you not guess why ? — to see my beloved Rose. And where 
do you suppose 1 first saw her ?” asked the stranger, paus- 
ing and looking fixedly in the pallid face of the young 
duchess. 

“ Go on,” were the only words that escaped her bloodless 
lips. 

“ I found her at midnight on Hounslow Heath, in the 
hands of footpads.” 

“ You were -.” Rose gasped and stopped. 

“ I was the companion of the man calling himself Colonel 
McCarthy in your pretended rescue.” 

“Then, if you recognized me there, wliy did you not make 
yourself known to me ? It would have prevented all thi^ 
utter'ruin.” 

“ Because it did not suit my circumstances to do so. My 
return to England was an experiment. It remained yet to 
be tried whither I should be remembered and pursued. 
Besides, as soon as I recognized in our intended victim, my 
own Rose, I wished to deliver you from the power of my 
colleague, McCarthy, a purpose that I could only effect by 
the utmost secrecy and caution.” 

“Explain yourself.” 

“You must have already surmised that the whole affair 
of the attack on your carriage, your rescue by Colonel 
McCarthy and myself, and your refuge of Howlet’s Close, 
was all a preconcerted arrangement, planned by McCarthy, 


m 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


alias McSomebodyelse, to throw you into the power of a 
certain illustrious personage whose name was not to be 
mentioned in the afifair ; and who, I suppose, really never 
authorized it.” 

“ Oh, heaven, what a pandemonium is this town ! what 
demons are in it I” muttered Rose, in horror. 

“ Very true, my love ; but you are unwise to disturb your- 
self about them. To resume. You were taken to the 
country-house miscalled Howlet’s Close. You were shown 
to your chamber, but fortunately did not retire to bed. A 
man in a mask came out from his coneealment in a dark 
closet ; his purpose was honest, and though he unwillingly 
gave you a desperate fright, he bore you away from a house 
of danger, and be would have borne you to one of safety, 
had not your own outcries and the untimely arrival of the 
Duke of Beresleigh prevented his laudable purpose, and made 
it necessary for him to beat a speedy retreat. You have 
already recognized in your deliverer from that house of dan- 
ger — myself I” 

Go on I Why did you not claim me then and there, 
before I rushed, dragging down all I love, to this horrible 
pit of perdition ?” exclaimed Rose, in despair. 

“ Because, my love, as I repeat, my circumstances did not 
permit me to do so. I dared not alienate my friend at court 
by letting him know that I had free'd the bird I had engaged 
to help him to entrap. And I dared not let the authorities 
know of my return to England. I was forced to use caution 
and secrecy in all that I did. You were delivered from my 
honest custody by the hands of the Duke of Beresleigh. And 
the next news I heard of you was the announcement of your 
betrothal to bis grace.” 

“ Oh, man ! man I why did you not then, at least come for- 
ward and prevent the consummation of such a horrible misfor- 
tune ?” 

“ Because, my dear, the principle of self-sacrifice was never 
a considerable element in my character. The necessity of 
secrecy ana caution had increased tenfold. It was while lay- 
ing perdue after that night’s adventure, I ascertained beyond 
all doubt that I had been recognized, and that the police were 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 327 

in search of me. You see I durst not discover myself to one 
even so dear as you.” 

“Then, in the name of Heaven, why do you appear to blast 
me with your presence now ?” cried Rose, in horror. 

“ Because the necessity of concealment no longer exists. 
Because my enemy — my prosecutor — no longer lives ; he is 
dead — dead and d — d I” exclaimed the stranger, in a tone of 
intense hatred, as a demoniac glare flashed like lurid lightning 
athwart the calmness of his countenance. “And because,^ he 
added, emphatically, “/ want you for myself^ 

The young duchess, shuddering, hid her face in both her 
hands, without replying. 

“Come, Rose,” he continued, with his usual composure, “if 
you did not owe me fidelity and affection, you do owe me at 
least some gratitude for my deliverance of you from a house 
that you could scarcely have left without my aid. Even his 
grace the duke could not have discovered your retreat, or res- 
cued you from that well-chosen hiding-place. Come, Rose, 
you have given me a very cold reception ; but when I assure 
you that I am willing to forgive this escapade of yours with 
the duke, and provide for your flight with me to the Conti- 
nent — if you will consent to be mine ” 

“ Wretch ! cease your insults. I will hear no more !” cried 
Rose, shivering with disgust. 

“ Come, Rose, this is carrying matters with rather too high a 
hand. You know that you are in my power — soul and body 
you are mine.” 

“ No, by the blue heavens above us ! not so fallen as that 
I am not yours, thank God I” 

“ What ! do you forget the little transaction at the village 
church at Swinburne four years ago ? By that I claim you 
as my own.” 

“ I forget nothing ; least of all a later fact that I should 
ever remember, namely, that I am the most unworthy wife 
of one as high above you as heaven is above Hades — so high 
above you that he should not even be named in your presence. 
To him, my noble husband, will I go — to him will I confess 
all, as I should have done before our marriage would he have 
consented to hear me — he only, my husband, shall be my 


328 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


judge. I will commit my cause to him. and receive my fate 
from his own just hands. And, whatever that fate may be, I 
shall know it to be righteous, coming from him ; and, what- 
ever it may be, though the Duke of Beresleigh may banish 
this poor Rose forever from his sight — look you, sir I you, at 
least, I will never see again. The monstrous and unnatural 
crime that has made you hateful to all mankind has made you 
loathsome to me.” 

“ Madam, you will sing another song, or ever the play ia 
over.” 

“ Your threats are vain I Do not misjudge me by the 
strong agitation into which your first unexpected appearance 
threw me ! Like an apparition from the grave, you startled 
me from my self-possession and judgment. Your diabolical 
proposal that I should fly with you to the Continent restored 
me to myself; showed me that, in suffering your presence and 
conversation, I was doing a great wrong. And now, sir, I 
command you to leave the house,” said the young duchess, 
gaining courage at the sound of her own brave words. 

“Oh, you believe yourself Duchess of Beresleigh, no doubt; 
but / live to bar your claim to that proud title.” 

“ I may not wear the title to the Duchess of Beresleigh for 
another day, but I am still the Baroness Etheridge of Swin- 
burne, and, as such, I shall employ all my wealth and power 
to rid society of a monster unfit to infest it ! And now, sir, 
I order you to leave this house; for if you desecrate this place 
with your presence one moment longer, I shall send for a 
policeman, and you shall spend this night in custody, what- 
ever to-morrow may bring forth,” said the duchess, rising and 
laying her hand upon the belbcord. 

He sprang forward, and v/ith a look, half entreaty, half 
command, arrested her hand, exclaiming : 

“Rose, you are mad! mad I Pause, and reflect, before 
you pull down irretrievable ruin upon your own young head I 
Listen, calmly, while I place before you two courses of 
action, with their certain consequences. You say that you 
will go to the duke and tell him all I You will tell the 
Haughtiest peer in England of the dark blot you have brought 
upon his escutcheon. Do you imagine that he will shovi 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


329 


\ 

you any mercy ? I tell you, men, whether peers or peasants, 
never forgive such wrongs ! He will repulse you with loath- 
ing and abhorrence, and leave you to your fate I You will 
loe subjected to a degrading criminal trial, that must end in 
certain conviction, and all its horrible consequences — too hor- 
rible to think upon ! Can you, so young and fair, and so 
beloved and worshipped, bear a doom so dark with anguish 
and with ignominy I” 

Her face grew white and sharp with woe, and then with 
that look still upon it, seemed to turn to marble. Not the 
sculptured front of Nemesis could be whiter, stiller, sterner, 
than her young brow, as she replied : 

“ It may be as you say. 1 may sink into this black pit 
that yawns to receive me ; yet if my path of duty leads 
thither, I will not swerve to the right or to the left, but walk 
straight to it as ever a martyr walked to the stake. I will 
tell my husband all, and he shall be my judge.” 

“ You are frantic I frantic, I say, Rose 1 Yet if you have 
a single ray of reason left, listen while I tell you the brighter 
results of an opposite course of conduct. Consent to fly 
with me to the continent. Y^ou can quietly collect your 
money and jewels to-night, steal from the house, and meet 
me at the corner of the square at three o’clock in the morn- 
ing. I will have a carnage in waiting ; we will drive to the 
office and take the early coach to Dover, meet the evening 
boat to Calais, and proceed to Paris. By so doing you will 
escape the criminal trial, with all its horrible consequences. 
Y^ou will have lost only your rank and title as Duchess of 
Beresleigh, which you must lose in any case, but you will 
retain your rank and title of Baroness Etheridge, together 
with the vast revenues of Swinburne. Upon this we can live 
abroad in elegance and luxury. And I shall be the most 
exemplary husband that ever devoted himself to a wife’s 
happiness, and thus ” 

“ Monstrous caitilFI” she exclaimed, “how dare you utter 
such words in my presence ? Were there no question of 
honor, duty and self-respect at issue, I still would die here 
rather than seek safety with such as you ! The discovery, 
the public exposure, the criminal trial, with all its terrible 


830 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


consequences, would be welcome, rather than the deeper 
degradation you ofifer as a refuge I” 

“ You take high ground, madam ; but this one warning 1 
would give your grace : Unless 1 hear from you to a different 
purpose to-morrow before noon, you, Rosamond Wardour 
and Etheridge, Duchess of Beresleigh, and Baroness Ether- 
idge of Swinburne — shall stand before the world a com- 
mitted felon I” 

For all the answer the young duchess rang the bell. 

The footman in waiting on the outside of the door imme- 
diately entered. 

“ Miller ! show this person to the street door, and if he 
does not go promptly and quietly, summon a policeman,” 
said the young duchess. 

Your grace shall hear from me before twelve to-morrow !” 
exclaimed the stranger, crimson with rage, as he followed the 
footman from the room. 

Left alone in the library. Rose sank upon the sofa, and 
covering her face with her hands, groaned — 

“ Oh, merciful Saviour of the world, that I could die this 
moment I that I could die this moment. But one short hour 
ago, so exalted, so confident, and so happy ! and now so 
wretched, so fallen, and so lost ! And, oh. Heaven ! how 
shall I tell the duke I What shall I say to my husband 

The re-entrance of the footman who had attended the 
stranger to the street door, startled her. 

“ Well, Miller she asked, looking up. 

“ Please, your grace, the man has gone away quite peace- 
ably,” said the footman. 

“ Very well. Then go to the duke and say, with my 
respects, that I request the favor of his presence here in the 
librar}^,” said the duchess. 

The footman bowed and withdrew to do his errand. 

And the young duchess, pale, breathless, trembling, almost 
lying, awaited the entrance of the duke. 

^ ^ 


•p 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


331 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 
THE wife’s confession. 


And now, my gracious lord, prepare to hear 
A story that shall turn thee into stone ! 

Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature— 

A flaw made through the centre by some god, 

Through which the groans of ghosts might strike thy ear, 
They would not wound thee as this story will. — Lee. 


The Duke of Beresleigh entered the library with a brisk 
step, humming a liv^ely opera tune — the exuberant joy of bis 
heart overflowing in this manner. 

“ Well, fairest and rosiest of Roses, what are your grace’s 
commands ? You have absented yourself long from our 
friends ; there are many inquiries for you. Your untimely 
visitor has departed, I presume,” he said, gayly approaching 
her. 

She turned towards him with a face white and still as 
death. 

“ Rose ! good Heaven, Rose ! what is the matter? What 
nas happened ?” he cried, springing towards her. She held 
out her hand with an adjuring gesture that suddenly arrested 
his steps. He stood still, gazing at her in astonishment for 
a moment, and then said — 

“ Oh, I see how it is ! This messenger, who I am led to 
suppose comes from Miss Elmer or Cassinove, brings some 
distressing news of your young friend or the unhappy pris- 
oner 1 My sweet Rose, you are much too sensitive to be 
exposed to the necessity of listening to these heart-rending 
tales of distress. I really must interdict it I Come, tell me 
what it, is, my dearest love, and let me know how I can 
alleviate the sorrows that touch your gentle heart as if they 
were your own,” he said, again drawing near to her. 

But again she raised her white hand to wave him back, as, 
in a voice so hollow that he never could have recognized it 
as her own, she said — 

“ Do not touch me, Duke of Beresleigh ! A gulf has 


832 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


opened between us deeper and broader than that which 
divides heaven and Hades I 

“ In the name of heaven, Rose, what do you mean he 
exclaimed, appalled at her manner. 

“I will tell you presentl}^” she replied, in the same hollow 
voice, adding, “you said that your friends above-stairs w'ere 
inquiring fur me 

“ Yes, dear love.” 

“ Will you please to return to the drawing-room and say 
to my — your mother — that I am too much indisposed to be 
visible again to-night, and beg her to make my excuses, and 
to fill my place among my — her guests ?” requested Rose, 
speaking in an unearthly tone, and with an incoherent 
manner. 

“ Certainly, my fairest Rose I” said the duke, with a be- 
wildered look, but affectionate earnestness. 

“ And then will 3^ou please return to me here ?” 

“ Most assuredly, sweet love !” he said, drawing near to 
embrace her. 

“Away! away! you must not touch me; there is con- 
tagion in my contact !” she cried, wildly. 

“ Rose !” he exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment. 

“Oh, go and do as I -have asked you! Go, do as you 
have promised me — and then come back ! For, oh ! I have 
such a story to tell you ! I have such a story to tell you !” 
she cried, distractedly. 

He hesitated, looked at her in alarm, and made one step 
towards her ; but her blanched face, her strained eyes, and 
outstretched hand, sternly repelled him ; and full of astonish- 
ment and consternation, he turned to obey her, saying : 

“ I go. Rose, but shall return in twm minutes to hear the 
explanation of this strange conduct.” 

“ One wmrd before you go ! Do not alarm the duchess, or 
permit her to come to me. I could not bear it ; I must see 
you alone,” she pleaded. 

“ Certainly, dear Rose ; compose yourself; try to be calm. 
This is most extraordinary,” said the duke, as he went up-stairs. 

He found the room still full ; the company had not even be- 
gun to thin. He found his mother still surrounded by her 
friends, and shining like a planet in the centre of its satellites 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


833 


He went up to her, and said, in a low voice : 

“ Madam, the duchess is indisposed, and feels compelled to 
retire. She begs that you will make her excuses, and fill her 
place to our friends.” 

“Ah ! I am sorry to hear Rose is not well ! but I under- 
stand it all. She has been agitated by some news of Miss 
Elmer or Mr. Gassinove, brought by this messenger to-night. 
She is full of benevolence and sympathy, and it is quite right 
that she should be touched with the misfortunes of her friends ; 
but really, when their troubles disturb her so seriously as to 
make her ill, they should be kept from her, else no one knows 
what the consequences may be. Is she very much indis- 
posed ?” inquired the duchess dowager. 

“ Indeed, madam, I have never seen her so pale and so 
nervous.” 

“ I had better go to her ; I am sure our friends would ex- 
cuse my absence for a few moments,” said the duchess, in 
alarm. 

“ No, madam, I entreat you will not. Rose will retire, and 
if she should really be so ill as to require tTie presence of your 
grace, I will surely let you know.” 

“ Be sure that you do, then,” said the duchess. 

And with a bow the young duke withdrew. 

The duke returned to the library. He found his young vvife 
sitting where he had left her, still and white, upon the corner 
of the sofa. 

“Well, my sweet Rose, I have done your bidding, and now 
I have come to hear what it is that has so dreadfully agitated 
you,” he said, taking a seat near her sofa. 

She looked at him with a gaze full of woe, and remained 
silent. 

“ Is it any thing connected with your friends. Miss Rimer 
or Mr. Gassinove ? any news brought by their messenger ?” 

“No, no, you are utterly mistaken. That man was no 
mes.senger from the one or the other ; that man •” 

Rose paused, and her cheek grew whiter than before. 

“ Well, that man ! who and w hat was he ? and how durst 
he come here to agitate you in this manner ?” said the duke, 
impatiently. 


334 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ That man — oh, heaven ! how dare I tell you I Oh, George I 
oh, Beresleigh, Beresleigh ! did I not say to you three months 
ago that you knew not upon whose brow you were to place 
the ducal coronet of your ancient house — did I not ? did I 
not ?” 

“Yes, Rose, yes; but what mean you, in the name of 
heaven 

“ Did I not say to you that I felt, deep in my heart, that 
this'iife of mine was but a transient glory 

“•Yes, Rose, yes. Whither do your words tend 

“ Did I not warn you that I was but a poor little player- 
peeress, who must sustain her part for a season, until the 
comedy should be over, and then go away and be forgotten 

“ Yes, yes fwhat do you mean ?’’ 

“ Did I not tell 3^ou that Fate would exact a terrible pay 
ment for this, pageantry with which she has amused me 
Said I not that I felt my strange destiny akin to that of poor 
Jane Dudley, who, for ten glorious days, played her great 
part of Queen' of ;Fngland, and then laid down her young life 
in payment for that brief, bright pageantry ?’’ 

“ Yes, yes, \mu did ; but, in the name of heaven, explain 
yourself! Whaf do you mean. Rose 

“ Oh, Beresleigh, Beresleigh 1 I mean that my second- 
sight is realized ; my prophecy is fulfilled ; my doom at handl’^ 
she said, wildly. 

“ I think I understand you. Rose. This visitor who has 
disturbed 3"OU so much to-night is, I presume, the pretended 
heir of Swinburne, with whose imaginary claims the worthy 
Colonel Hastings sought to frighten ^mu into a marriage with 
his admirable son, and having failed in that project, seeks 
now to disturb your peace. Very well, I shall hand them 
all over to the police to-morrow morning,’’ said the duke, in- 
dignantly. 

“Alas ! alas ! you are far, far wrong I If it were only a 
new claimant of the barony of Swinburne I should not mind 
it much ; it would be what I always expected. But oh I 

when I felt that my prosperity was but a passing pageant 

when I felt that I should be cast down from wealth and 
splendor to poverty and obscurity — I thought that would be 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


335 


the worst! the very worst I I did not expect dishonoi, de- 
gradation, danger to liberty and life I” she cried, distractedly, 
wringing her pale hands. 

“ Great heaven, Rose ! what do you mean ?” questioned 
the duke, in the extremity of consternation and perplexity. 

For all answer she arose and sunk at his feet, clasped his 
knees, sobbing aloud. 

“ Rise 1 rise ! rise I for heaven’s sake, rise.” 

“ No ! no I no I no I here at your feet will I make my con- 
fession 1” she sobbed in agony. 

^'Gonfesdon, Rose ?” he repeated, in alarm. 

“ Yes, confession ! Oh, Beresleigh, Beresleigh, do you not 
know that on the day we were betrothed I warned you that 
there were three secrets of my life with which you should be 
made acquainted before contracting yourself to me ?” 

“ Yes !” exclaimed the young duke, breathlessly. 

“ The first secret, that related to my sure presentiment of a 
coming reverse, and the second secret, that concerned my ac- 
quaintance with Albert Hastings, were both fully confided to 
you ; but the third secret 1 Oh, teresleiglf 1 the third secret 
was the most terrible of them all.” 

“Well ?” gasped the duke, in breathless agitation. 

“ I wished to tell you that third fatal secret, but you would 
not listen to me !” 

“ Well !” aspirated the duke, in a suffocated voice. 

“Oh, that you had heard that — heard that secret I Oh, 
that you had heard it before committing yourself irrevo- 
cably 1” 

“ Speak plainly, I adjure you, girl I Do not stretch me 
upon the rack !” exclaimed the duke, sternly. 

“Ah, do not be angry with me ! do not be angry with me I 
I will submit to any thing you please, so you will not be 
angry with me I I can bear every thing else in the world but 
that ! and I may have to bear a horrible series of misfor- 
tunes ! but not*' 5 "our anger! Oh, Beresleigh, not that! it 
would kill me ! it would kill me I” she .wied, convulsively, 
clasping his knees, hiding her face upon them, and shudder- 
ing through all her fragile frame. 

He gently disengaged her hold, forced her to, rise, and sit 
beside him. while he said mildly — 


336 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


“ Dear Rose, I am not angry with you ! Why should I 
be ? But you torture me more than you know ! Your wild 
manner — your distracted talk — what am I to judge from it? 
What is it that you have concealed from me ? Come, speak, 
beloved ! You have nothing to fear from me. I could not be 
angry with you. Come 1” 

And he would have embraced her, but she shrank from him 
exclaiming — 

No, do not caress me I do not I and if you do not hate me 
after you hear all, I shall be grateful — only too grateful. 

“ Speak, Rose 1 conceal nothing from me.” 

“Oh ! I did not wish to hide any thing from you, and I 
never, never wished to deceive you ! I should have insisted 
on telling you that fatal secret which you refused to hear, 
only that I believed the man to have been dead for years I” 

“Rose! the man ! what manP’ cried the duke, in the low 
voice of intense anxiety. 

“ The man who was here to-night !” gasped Rose. 

“And what was that man to you — to you, my wife, the 
Duchess of Beresleigh ?” asked the duke, haughtily. 

“ Oh, cast me from you, if you will I Leave me to my 
dreadful fate! but do not speak angrily to me! from you I 
cannot bear it !” cried Rose, in despair. 

“ What, then, was that man to you ?” 

There was a dreadful pause. 

Rose, white, shuddering, with her features drawn sharp 
with agony, seemed upon the verge of death. So great was 
her anguish, that, as the duke gazed upon her, pity for one 
whom he had loved so much overcame all other emotions, and 
modulating his voice to the gentlest tone, he said — 

“ Rose, open your heart to me without fear, and believe me 
when I assure you, that whatever your fatal secret may be, I 
will not be harsh with you ; and however I may be compelled 
to act, all shall be done in the spirit of kindness towards you. 
Your happiness and welfare shall be the first consideration, 
after the claims of honor and duty. And now. Rose, tell me, 

is it as your dreadful anguish leads me to suspect, was this 

this man — a former lover of yours ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; and 1 never told you. Oh, do not curse me, 
though I deserve it !” she gasped. 


THE bridal eve. 


m 


Though he had been half prepared to hear this admission, 
yet the words pierced his heart like a sword. It was by his 
great self-control he restrained his emotions. 

She continued — 

“ lie was more than a lover, and yet not so much. Oh, 
bear with me 1 hear me patiently to the end I” 

“ Speak on.” 

But so great was her anguish that she was incapable of 
speaking or breathing freely. 

There was a waiter with decanters of port and sherry and 
glasses sitting on the table. The duke poured out, and 
brought a glass of wine, which he forced her to drink. The 
stiiii'ilant had the desired effect. She breathed freely, and 
commenced her narrative — 

“ It was when 1 was but seventeen years old, and while I 
still believed myself to be the daughter of Magdalene Elmer, 
the village-laundress, that the event I am about to relate to 
you occurred. 

“ My poor foster-mother, doubtless to assuage the pangs of 
remorse, always made my life as easy to me as possible. She 
worked hard to keep me from work, and to pay for my educa- 
tion. She was as careful of my poor beauty as though I had 
been some little princess entrusted to her charge. That I 
should be brought up like a lady, and marry a gentleman of 
fortune, seemed her one great purpose in life. Doubtless she 
wished to compensate me in this way for the birthright of 
which her treachery had deprived me. She threw me as 
much as possible in the way of gentlemen, but always pri- 
vately cautioned me never to permit the slightest freedom 
from one of them. She used to tell me that if I was discreet 
my beauty would make my fortune ; but if I were otherwise, 
it would prove my destruction. And thus forewarned, if not 
fcrearmed, she would send me, as it were, to seek ny .f^rtane 
amid scenes of social danger. I mean that she was in the 
habit of getting up all the line linen for the transient visitors 
at the Etheridge Arms, and of sending me to take it home.” 

“Oh, Bose! poor, poor girl! how cruelly you were ex- 
posed 1” said the duke. 

“It was <he only service that my poor fo.ster-mother 


338 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


requested of me ; and, indeed I always remembered her 
caution, and deported myself in such a manner as to repel 
impertinence.” 

“I was scarcely seventeen years old, and we were living 
in an obscure old house in an unfrequented wood a mile out 
of the village, when one morning, a traveller, in the dress 
and accoutrements of a sportsman, passed by our place. Ho 
looked at it, retraced his steps, and entered the gate. Mother 
and myself were both in the yard. I returned into the 
house, but my mother 

‘‘ Your /os^cr- mother. Rose,” said the duke, with a 
fastidious shudder. 

“ My foster-mother, then, went forward to meet the stran- 
ger. From the open parlor-window I heard all that passed. 

“ His name, he said, was Captain Rutherford ; he was 
an officer of the 10th Hussars ; he was on leave, and 
had come down to the neighborhood for a few weeks 
shooting ; he did not like the village, and was in 
search of country lodgings. Passing by, he had seen^and 
had been pleased with the house, and would pay liberally 
for the accommodation if she could lodge him for Or few 
weeks. 

“Now, there were several suspicious circumstances con- 
nected with the appearance and story of this person which 
did not strike me at the time, but which I had bitter cause to 
remember afterwards. In the first place, Swinburne, with 
the exception of the chase, was not a sporting neighborhood. 
No one but the visitors at the castle ever came down to 
shoot or fish. In the second place, this was not the sporting 
season. But my poor foster-mother, no more than myself, 
noticed this decrepancy. 

“ Her one absorbing desire to find a wealthy husband for 
her poor Rose blinded her to every danger and all conse- 
quences, and decided her, I firmly believe, to receive this 
gentleman as a lodger. The bargain was soon struck. The 
stranger returned to the village for his portmanteau, and 
Mrs. Elmer came into the house to prepare the upper rooms 
for his reception. 

“After her preparations were complete, she took me in 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


339 


hand, dressed me carefully, but very plainly, and cautioned 
me to be very discreet. But this sort of settinp^ me up for 
sale was so repugnant to my feelings that indeed I could 
have found it in my heart to have hidden myself in the 
wilderness.” 

“ I can well believe it, my poor Rose,” said the duke, with 
a tone and look as though he were mourning over her, dead. 

She continued — 

“ Captain Rutherford came the same afternoon. I sup- 
pose he would have been considered by any landlady as a 
model lodger. He certainly tried to please us rather than 
himself, and he succeeded, so far as my foster-mother was 
concerned. Oh ! it is a great mistake to think that men 
walk about she world with their characters written upon 
their faces! that a good man always looks benevolent, and a 
villain wears a sinister expression of countenance. AVe may 
inherit our face from one ancestor, and our character from 
another ; or our faces may be given us by nature, while our 
cha4;acters are formed by education. 

“ Rutherford was a handsome and prepossessing man, tall, 
fair-skinned, fair-haired, with eyes as blue, clear, and gentle 
as those of childhood, and a smile full of frankness and 
benevolence. He fascinated my poor foster-mother ; — she 
believed in him, honored him, indeed, loved him. His life 
with us was very quiet and regular. He went out in the 
morning with his dog and gun, and returned in the afternoon 
with nothing to show for his day’s ‘sport.’ He often con- 
descended to pass his evenings in chatting with my mother 
and myself. 

“ He often invited me to go for a walk, but I never would 
accept the invitation, nor, indeed, would my mother ever 
have permitted it. We never had any visitors, and so our 
lodger remained with us for several weeks in total seclusion.” 

Rose paused, a sudden blush suffused her pale cheeks, she 
drew a deep breath, recovered herself, and proceeded in a 
lower tone : 

“ Oh, how I hate to speak of what soon followed ! Ruther- 
ford loved me, sought every opportunity to tell me so ; but 
my foster-mother, discreet as she was ambitious, took care 


340 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


that he was never for a moment alone with me. This course 
of conduct brought the man to the point towards which she 
had been drawing him all the time. He sought an interview 
with her ; told her that he loved me, and wished to make me 
his wife. My poor mother ! with ill-concealed triumph, she 
approved his suit, and sanctioned his addresses.” 

“And you, Rose, you exclaimed the duke, with the most 
painful interest. 

“ I haled the man ! I say it now, and I said it then ! but 
then I blamed myself for the instinctive hatred that seemed 
so unjust. I was a child in the hands of my foster-mother. 
She did not absolutely force me to accept Rutherford, but she 
urged me with tears, entreaties, and reproaches, and won her 
cause and Rutherford’s through my love for her.” 

The young duke could not repress the deep groan that 
burst from his bosom. 

“ I consented to become the wife of Captain Rutherford. 
But after our engagement, my poor nurse insisted upon the 
same reserve as before. We were never left alone together 
for a moment. 

“ This course effected that which Mrs. Elmer had intended 
it should — the fixing of an early day for the wedding. The 
captain made liberal settlements, or brought us documents 
which he declared to be such. But he desired, upon account 
of his family, who, he said, wished him to marry an heiress, 
that the wedding should be a strictly private one, witnessed 
only by my mother. To this Mrs. Elmer consented, and the 
captain undertook all the necessary preparations. The curate 
and the parish clerk of Swinburne were heavily feed, and 
bound to secrecy. 

“ It was arranged that the captain, my mother and myself, 
should repair to Swinburne church at dawn, where the curate 
and the clerk would be in readiness to perform the ceremony, 
after which we were to take a post-chaise to Bristol, where 
we were to embark for the continent. 

“Every thing was conducted as had ’been previously ar- 
ranged. At dawn, the captain had a post-chaise before our 
door. We entered, and drove to the village, and entered the 
church before any of the villagers were astir. We found the 
curate and the clerk awaiting us 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


841 


We were hurried up the aisle and formed before the altar, 
I noticed that Captain Rutherford looked ap:itated, and seemed 
anxious to have the ceremony over as quickly as possible. I 
wondered if he feared pursuit from his aristocratic friends, or 
if they i^ally had the power to stop a man of twenty five 
from ma,rrying whom he pleased ; and I wished from my 
heart, if they had the power, they might appear and forbid 
tlie banns ; for though I was not strong enough to resist my 
foster-mother’s wish that I should wed this man, I should 
have rejoiced at any circumstance that would have broken off 
the marriage. 

“ The ceremony that was to bind me forever to this man 
commenced, and as it progressed, I felt as though my sentence 
of death was being pronounced ; as if, with every respons*^ I 
made, I was letting go my last hold on life — my last hope of 
a reprieve. 

“ The ceremony was more than half over. The usual 
question was asked w'hether one there present saw any cause 
why these two persons should not be united in marriage, and 
if any one knew any such impediment, they were expected 
then and there to declare it, and the usual pause was made 
for the answer. 

“ ‘ The drowming catch at straws.’ T, whelmed in these 
waves of ruin, and feeling myself sinking, caught at the mad 
hope that some one, from some hidden nook, would answer 
and forbid the marriage, and save me from the pit of despair 
into which I felt myself faliing. 

'' But no one spoke, and the ceremony proceeded. Tt was 
nearly over. Rutherford had placed the ring upon my finger, 
and was holding it there, and repeating after the curate the 
words of the ritual, ‘ With this ring I thee wed ; with all my 
worldly goods I thee endow,’ when a slight noise at the door 
caused him to look around. He started suddenly, dropped 
my hand, rushed to the nearest window, dashed it open, and 
threw himself out of it. 

“At the very same instant, the church was filling with con- 
stables and the posse comitatus they had summoned to assist 
them. They were led on by a London police-officer, who had 
slowly traced the criminal down to our obscure village, and 
who carried in his hand a warrant for the arrest of 


342 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


•‘Rutherford, of course.’’ 

“Thugsen, the criminal, at whose name all England shud- 
dered ! Thugsen, who had eluded the police, and hidden 
himself with us until he could secure his retreat to Franco ! 
Thugsen, who, under the name of Rutherford, stood me 
at the altar of the church at Swinburne. 

“ My poor foster-mother was struck with consternation at 
the danger I had so narrowly escaped. The clerk and the 
curate were both appalled. I, in the midst of my great hor- 
ror, felt an awful thankfulness at my deliverance. The 
officers, as soon as they found he had fled from the church, 
dispersed in search of him, but he had managed to make his 
escape. Afterwards, I heard that he had fled to the conti- 
nent ; and long afterwards there was a confident report of his 
death. He was said, by all the newspapers, to have been 
killed in an emeute at Paris. 

“ I believed him dead until this night. This night he sud- 
denly appeared before me. He dared to claim me as his 
own ; dared to promise me forgiveness for what he called my 
inconstancy, if I would fly with him to the continent ; dared, 
further, to threaten me with a criminal prosecution if I re- 
fused to accompany him.” 

“And you, Rose — what said you 

“I said that I would refer my cause to you, and take my 
fate from your hands. And I do, oh, my husband ! oh, my 
judge ! my sovereign ! I am yours to dispose of as you list, 
•1 know that what you decide will be right, perfectly right ; 
and if you banish me from your side forever, I know that it 
will be because you are obliged by honor to do so, and that, 
even then, you will give poor, exiled Rose a kind good-bye !’* 

He did not at once answer her ; he could not do so; he 
was terribly shaken. There was not a prouder or more 
sensitive man in England than himself He felt keenly the 
deep dishonor of the charge that might be brought against ' 
the young Duchess of Beresleigh — the very connection of he- 
name in any manner with that of the notorious Thugsen 
would be degradation. Yet he felt how innocent she really 
was. He looked at her sitting there so pale, so sorrowful, so 
resigned, and he opened his arms, saying — 


. THE BRIDAL EVE. 


343 . 


Rose, you are an honorable woman. Come to my bosom, 
my beloved wife ; you are mine own, and my arm shall shield 
you against the world !” 

And with a cry of irrepressible joy. Rose threw herself into 
his arms and swooned away. 

He laid her gently on the sofa, and without venturing to 
call assistance, he applied such restoratives as were at hand, 
until his eflbrts were crowned with success, and with a deep 
sigh she recovered, and opened her eyes. Almost the first 
words of her returning consciousness were ; 

“ Oh, what will your mother say 

He knelt by her side, and speaking very gently, as he bent 
over her, said : 

“ Dear Rose, my mother and sisters need know nothing as 
yet. Remember that to-morrow they set out for Paris, on 
their way to the south of France. They will be travelling over 
the Continent all the autumn and winter; before they return, 
this threatened misfortune may be warded off. Compose 
yourself, dear Rose, and remember that you are my wedded 
wife, whom I will shelter and defend against the world.” 

And so, soothing, comforting, and sustaining the delicate 
creature, whom he had vowed before heaven to cherish until 
death, he led Rose to the door of her dressing-room, and gave 
her into the affectionate care of the little French dressing- 
maid. He went to his own room, and passed a night of silent 
agony. 

Very early in the morning a message came from the duch- 
ess-dowager, to know how her beloved daughter-in-law had 
passed the night. Rose sent word that she was much better 
. — in fact, quite well. 

And, with a superhuman effort at self-command, she left 
her bed, and, after a careful morning-toilet, repaired to the 
breakfast-room, where, with a heavy heart, but a cheerful 
countenance, she met the family. 

The duchess-dowager and her daughters were in theii 
travelling-dresses. 

I am very glad that you are so much better this morning 
my dear. ‘ Indeed, if your indisposition had continued, wo 
sliouM have deferred our journey. I have given Beresleigb 


S44 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


a strict charge that you are not to be distressed by hearing 
of troubles you cannot alleviate,” said the dowager, thinking 
only that her fair daughter-in-law had been agitated by a 
messenger from Laura Elmer, as she advanced and kissed her 
cheek. 

“ Oh, she will do quite well,” said the duke, giving Rose 
his arm, and placing her at the table. 

“ You seem to think very lightly of the matter, Beresleigh, 
but I tell you I will not have her agitated. Rose, poor child, 
has no mother to take her part, and scold you if you fail to 
fake care of her ; but I do assure you, you shall not get off 
free, for that reason, for I shall most impartially perform the 
duties of mother-in-law to you, and make you very uncom- 
fortable, if Rose is not cheerful,” said the dowager, as they 
gathered around the table. 

The travelling-carriages were at the door, and as soon as 
breakfast was over, the duchess and her daughters took leave, 
and departed. 

“ Thank heaven, they are gone ! Oh, that I should have 
lived to see the day upon which I thank heaven my mother 
and sisters have left me !” thought the Duke of Beresleigh, as 
he watched the two carriages roll off and disappear, and then 
he turned into the breakfast-room^ where Rose stood, pale 
and frightened. 

“ Well, love !” he said, going to her side. 

“ That dreadful man threatened I should hear from hfm 
before noon to-day. And the clock is on the stroke of 
twelve !” she said, trembling. 

They were interrupted by a knock at the street-door. 

Rose shuddered and clung to the Duke. 

The next moment a stranger was announced He was a 
civil officer, bearing a warrant for the arrest of Rosamond 
Wardour and Etheridge, Duchess of Beresleigh and Baron 
ess Etheridge of Swinburne. 


THE BRIDAL EVE 


845 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE INDICTMENT OF THE YOUNG DUCHESS. 

I have marked 
A thousand blushing apparitions start 
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
In angel whiteness bear away these blushes, 

And in her eyes there hath appeared a fire 
To burn the errors that those judges hold 
Against her maiden truth, — Shakspeare. 

Happily, the Dowager Duchess of Beresleigh and the 
Ladies Wardour had quitted the kingdom before the fall of 
the thunderbolt upon their ancient and noble house. 

More happily, the unaffected humility, the simple kindness, 
and the innocent gayety of the young duchess, had made as 
many sincere friends as her surpassing beauty, exalted rank, 
and distinguished success had made secret enemies; and 
thus, though society was shocked to its foundation by the 
news of her arrest upon so grave a charge, yet she was not 
left without warm advocates among the most eminent men 
and women of the world. And most happily. Rose was as 
innocent as a child, not only of the crime imputed to her, 
but of every thought connected with such sin. With the 
most diabolical exaggeration of malignity on the part of her 
enemies, the indictment of bigamy had been preferred at the 
Old Bailey, where, amongst the lowest and worst criminals 
of Newgate, Rose shuddered at the thought of appearing. 

Willingly would Rose have fled alone to some remote 
region, whence she never more might have been heard of, 
could she have borne away with her into the wilderness the 
sorrow of her husband, leaving him happy. But this could 
not be. Rose was greatly beloved, not only by her husbnnd, 
but by many devoted friends who remained faithful to her hi 
her deep distress, and like a child in her humility, gratituow 
and trust, she placed herself in their hands to be guided by 
their united counsels. 

The proceedings instituted against her, and based upon so 
Blight a foundation as an unfinished marriage ceremony, 


846 


THE BKIDA,L< EVE. 


inigbt pcssiblvhave been quashed; but the arrest and the 
charj^e having bqgn made public, it was deemed, b}'' the duke 
and his friends, essential to the fair fame of the young 
duchess, .that she should be vindicated by an open trial, but 
not at the Old Bailey. 

For though her legal right to the title of the Duchess of 
Beresleigh, and the honors and immunities belonging to the 
rank, was now questioned, yet, as the Baroness Etheridge of 
Swinburne, she had the right to claim a hearing before the 
highest tribunal in the realm. 

It was therefore by the advice of her friends, and the ex- 
press desire of her husband, that she exercised her right of 
peerage, demanded a trial by the House of Lords, and 
remained quietly in London to await the issue. 

The trial was arranged to be commenced on the fourteenth 
of the ensuing May. 

Meanwhile, the enviers, haters and maligners of the 
beautiful young duchess were busy with her name and fame. 
Her antecedents were brought up, with many exaggerations, 
distortions, and inventions. The particulars of the alleged' 
first marriage were not known, but what was missing in faet 
was supplied b>^ faney. The blackest slanders were circu- 
lated, and in order to set the seal of truth upon the packet 
of falsehood, they said that the Duchess Dowager of Beres- 
leigh and the Ladies Wardour had abandoned the 3mung 
duchess, a circumstance, they argued, that looked very black 
for the latter. 

This malignant perversion of the truth reached the ears 
of the 3"Oung duke and duchess, through one of those pests 
of society, who, in the guise of friendship, take care to bring 
to the ears of the victim all the ill that is said of them in 
their absence. 

These are Satan’s own archers, who carefully collect all the 
scattered arrows of slander, adjust them to the bows, and 
point and send them directly home to the bosom for which 
the}-" were intended, but which they never could have 
reached and wounded but for these same demon’s bowmen. 

The duke and duchess were sitting together in the drawing- 
room late in the evening, discussing this new calumny. ' 

Rose was so deeply distressed, that the duke said ; 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


3^7 


“ I shall take care in future, love, that none but tried and 
(rusted friends shall gain admittance to you. I shall put a 
list of names in the hands of the porter, with instructions t« 
deny you to all others.” 

“ Oh, Beresleigli ! Beresleigh !”said Rose, sobbing, “to think 
that even the kind forethought with which you favored 3mur 
mother’s and sister’s long projected tour should now be turned 
against us. Ah, dearest! you see — you see what accumulat- 
ing embarrassments you bring upon yourself by sustaining 
me. Ah, if you would only have permitted me to depart, I 
might have gone and buried myself in some distant land and 
been forgotten ; and you in time might have been happy 
again. But now — but now — ah ! if it were not a sin, an ounce 
of laudanum should soon end it all and relieve you of me.” 

“ Hush, hush, my darling. All earthly troubles, however 
tremendous, are necessarily transient. Would you, then, rush 
from transient trouble to eternal misery ?” inquired the duke, 
with a sweet gravity. 

“ Yes, yes ; I would plunge my soul into eternal misery to 
save you from the earthly sorrow that I have brought upon 
you, if it were no sin against God 1” cried Rose, with a wild 
burst of wee})ing. 

“ Rose, it is a great sin even to tamper with the thought 
of self-destruction. ]\Iy own dear Rose, as yet you are inno- 
cent in thought, word, and deed. Upon this rock of inno- 
cence I have bid you take vour stand, and let the waves of 
trouble rage around you as they may. You are safe so long 
as you keep your innocence. Remember and abide by the 
crest and motto of your ancient and unblemished house — the 
crest, a virgin proper on a rock in mid ocean, the waves beat- 
ing around her; the motto, ‘secure whilst upright.’ In all 
heraldry thei’e is not a more beautiful crest and motto. Hold 
to them. Rose !” 

“Ah, but that I — that I should have brought a blot upon 
that pure escutcheon, and not upon that only, but on yours 
also. Oh, heaven I I knew — I knew that my short prosperity 
was too bright to last. I knew that I was but the mere pas- 
time and mockery of Fortune. I knew that she would exact 
a terrible compensation for the brilliant comedy with which 


848 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


she had amused me. I drew a parallel between myself and 
Lady Jane Dudley, who for ten days of glorious sovereignty 
paid the heavy penalty of her young life. I expected scarcely 
any thing less than that for the punishment of my own pros- 
perity, and yet I looked for nothing so bad as this. I ex- 
pected to be hurled down to poverty, obscurity, and solitude; 
but, alas I even my prophetic heart did not foresee the deep 
dishonor of a felonious charge and a public trial. My fate is 
heavier than that of my prototype, Jane Dudley.’’ 

“ Hush, hush, my beloved ! you are blameless ; and blame- 
less shall you be borne through the terrible ordeal !” said the 
duke, drawing her to his bosom. ^ 

They were interrupted by the sound of carriage-wheels 
stopped before the front-door. 

“ Who can it be at this time of the night? It is an odd 
hour for visitors to call,” said the duke, impatiently. 

Rose, frightened at the very idea of visitors, lifted he) 
head from his bosom, and listened like a startled fawn. 

Then followed the opening of the hall-door, and a little 
bustle of arrival, and in another minute the drawing-room 
door was thrown open, and a footman announced : 

“ Her grace the duchess and the young ladies.” 

And the duchess dowager and her train of fair daughters 
entered. 

The duke started up in dismay, still clasping Rose to his 
bosom, as though to defend her against the whole world, his 
mother and sisters included. What could have brought them 
so suddenly to England just at this fearful crisis ? How 
should they bo told of the impending trial ? And how could 
his- proud mother and delicate sisters bear the news ? Above 
all, how would they meet his “stricken deer,” poor Rose ? 

These were the fearful cpiestions that rushed, flash upon 
flash, like lightning through his mind, while Rose, clasped 
dose to his heart, hid her face in his bosom. 


rHB BRIDAL SVK. 


849 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE PRISON CELL. 


The prison is in all things like the grave, 

Where men no other privilege have 

Than corpses ; nor so good. The soul once fled, 

Lives freer so than when she was cloist’red 
In wails of flesh. 

But the imprisoned soul, though living, dies 
And at one time feels two captivities; — 

A narrow dungeon, which her body holds; 

A narrower body, which herself enfolds. — Bishop King. 

The duchess dowager, with her hands stretched out, and 
ber eyes full of tears, advanced towards her son and his wife, 
saying : 

“ My dearest George! my dear, dear Rose I You could 
let me depart and remain abroad, while this great trouble was 
impending over you I Oh, George, could you doubt your 
mother’s love ? Could you, Rose, doubt one who has tried 
to fill a mother’s place towards you ? Doubt no more I If 
sorrow has come upon you, my children, your mother must 
bear it with you ! if dishonor, she must share it ! The hour 
of adversity and danger is not the time for a family to be 
separated. ‘ United we stand ; divided we fall !’” 

She looked like a queen ora goddess, as she stood there in 
her noble rectitude. 

The young duke released Rose, and with a burst of irre- 
pressible emotion, turned and clasped his mother to his 
heart. 

Rose, released from his embrace, sank at her mother’s feet, 
sobbing forth ; 

‘‘Oh, madam I oh, lady! I had rather died than have 
brought this sorrow upon you.” 

The duchess stooped and raised her up, saying : 

“ Come to my bosom, poor wounded dove, and believe that 
all the evils from wdiich we cannot save you, we will share 
with you,” 

“And — the Ladies Wardour ?” said the duke, turning a 
questioning glance towards them. 


850 


THE BEIDAL E.VE. 


“ They are my daughters and your sisters,” said the duchess, 
siijnificantly, while the young ladies, with tearful eyes and 
extended hands, came forward, and silently embraced their 
brother and sister-in-law. No miserable egotism, no mean 
question as to how the impending calamity might affect them 
and their prospects in life, bad any place in the souls of these 
noble girls. 

‘‘But, oh I is it possible !” said Rose, with her voice half- 
drowned in tears, “that hearing of my arrest upon such a 
dreadful charge, and knowing nothing of the particulars, you 
still had so much faith in me, that you could not believe me 
guilty 

“ No,” said the duchess, emphatically, and almost indig- 
nantly. “I knew you too well, sweet Rose. And now dis 
miss forever from your mind the idea that you have brought 
this trouble upon us ! Providence visits us all with a trial in 
which you have the hardest part to bear, and we the duty of 
making it as light as possible,” concluded her grace, tenderly 
pressing the hand of Rose. 

And yet this noble matron did not the less deeply feel the 
dishonor with which her house was threatened, because she 
had the forbearance to refrain from complaints and reproaches, 
and the magnanimity to sustain her unhappy daughter-in-law. 

When these greetings were over, the duke turned smilingly 
to his young wife, and said : 

“A little while ago, dear Rose, I had occasion to refer you, 
for encouragement, to the crest and motto of your own old 
house — the virgin standing on the little sea-girt rock, with 
the words, ‘Secu7'e ichilst upright!^ My mother has just ad- 
verted to our own crest and motto — a sheaf of wheat with 
the words, ‘United we stand.’ With faith in two such mot- 
toes, my Rose, we can face sorrows though they come, ‘ not 
single spies, but in battalions 1” And now I am sure my dear 
mother wishes to change her travelling-dress before joining us 
at supper,” concluded the duke, touching the bell. 

The housekeeper appeared at the door, and the dowager 
and her daughters retired to their toilets. 

“ Oh 1 is she not the noblest woman on the Lord’s earth ?” 
exclaimed the duke, as his eyes followed, in fond aduuration, 
the retiring form of his mother. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


351 


“ Oh, yes, she is more than a queen — she is a goddess/’ 
answered Rose, fervently. 

In an hour from that time the re-united family supped to- 
gether cheerfully, as though no impending calamity lowered 
darkly over their heads. 

That night, for the first time since her arrest, poor Rose 
retired to bed tranquillized. And the next morning all Lon- 
don knew that the duchess dowager, as soon as she heard in 
Paris of the arrest of her daughter-in-law upon a criminal 
charge, had hastened home to sustain her through the ap- 
proaching trial that was arranged to be commenced on the 
fourteenth of May. 

And to the unhappy Rose the presence and support of her 
husband’s mother was an immense and almost incalculable 
advantage. 

Human life is full of sorrows. But in the long catalogue 
of human woes there cannot be an anguish so intense, that 
so stretches the soul upon the rack, as the anxiety sufiered by 
a woman, whose dearest friend is a helpless prisoner, charged 
with a heinous crime, and on trial for his life. On the one 
side is life, liberty, and vindicated character; on the other, 
the condemned cell, the ignominious death, and the dishonored 
grave. 

And she powerless to help ! 

And there cannot be a despair so deep as that which fol- 
lows the conviction and sentence. It is unmeasurable. 
Earth has no cure ; has Heaven any comfort for it ? 

The prisoner is “ cast fur death.” ‘lie is to die, but not the 
death of nature — that were a blessing to be prayed for ; he is 
to be cut off from humanity, and cast forth from the earth as 
if unworthy of it ; the thief and the courtesan may live, but 
not he ; the beast and the reptile may breathe the fresh air, 
and enjo}^ the warm sunshine, but not be ; he must be choked 
to death on a public platform, and smothered out of sight in 
a dishonored grave. 

And oh ! if she who loves him — outcast and rejected of 
men as he is, guilty as he maybe — if she sustains the convict 
in the last awful hour of the condemned cell, in the last fateful 
moments preceding death, it is by a self-control in which she 


852 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


has precipitated the whole strength of her soul and all her 
future life. 

And if she survive the ghastly catastrophe, it is with palsiea 
sensibilities — dull to all future suffering, dead to all enjoyment. 

“ Life for life.” The stern law kills the body of the shedder 
of blood, and kills the heart of his surviving wife or daughter. 

I repeat, in all the woe of this world, there is no anxiety so 
intense as that which precedes a trial for life, and no despair 
JO deep as that which follows the sentence of death. 

Such an anxiety now held the soul of Laura Elmer in a 
state of tension to which a physical torture by the rack would 
have been as nothing. Such a despair loomed darkly before 
her. All the strong hopes that had supported her in the first 
days of Cassinove’s imprisonment had utterly given way and 
sunk beneath the weight of impending doom. 

Darker and heavier lowered the shadow over the devoted 
head of the prisoner. 

She had done all that was possible, and had failed of doing 
any good. 

The warrant that she had caused to be issued for the arrest 
of Thugsen, aliaa Roberts, alias Rayburne, had been served 
upon him. Indeed, that mysterious individual, far from avoid- 
ing the officers of justice, had purposely thrown himself in 
their way, giving himself up, “ to have the thing over once 
for all,” as he laughingly declared. He had been taken before 
the Bow street magistrate, by whom he had been very care- 
fully examined ; but in the absence of any positive evidence 
against him, he was discharged — a result that he had evi- 
dently foreseen from the first. 

Laura Elmer’s latest hope went out with the discharge of 
this man, whom in heart she believed to be guilty of the 
murder for which Cassinove was about to be tried. She 
knew Cassinove to be guiltless, but she had no longer any 
faith in the necessary security of innocence. She could only 
remember how often the guiltless seemed fated to suffer, and 
shudder at the inscrutable mysterv. 

And as the day for the trial approached, without casting 
any new light upon the dark secret of the murder, her auxi- 
et} deepened to despair. Yet her anguish was confined to 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 853 

tier own bosom, or confided only to her venerable friend, 
Doctor Clark. 

Into the dreary cell at Newgate she always carried a cheer 
ful smile and hopeful words. She spent as much time as was 
permitted with the prisoner, going to him early in the morning, 
and taking with her a guitar, a book, or a bouquet of flowers, 
cheering the long, dull, prison hours with music, reading, or 
eonversation-^cheering, comforting, and strengthening the 
prisoner with all her might, through all the dreary day, and 
then at evening returning to her lonely lodgings, exhausted 
and despairing, to spend the night in weeping and in prayer. 

Under this severe ordeal, health and life waned, and Laura 
Elmer, pale and wan, seemed but the spectre of her former 
self. 

Hitherto Laura Elmer had endured the heaviest misfor- 
tunes with the greatest fortitude, for they had fallen only 
upon herself, but now, through the sufferings of another, she 
sounded the very depths of human anguish. 

Her whole life was now devoted to the unhappy prisoner ; 
her heart grew to him with a tenacity that still increased as 
the day that threatened to part them approached. 

Her avocations were utterly neglected. Her small stock 
of money was exhausted ; her rent was in arrears ; her board 
was often bare ; and Laura Elmer, once the heiress of mil- 
lions, knew what it was to be dunned for debt and to suffer 
for food; but she felt not these troubles, they were “trifles 
light as air.” Besides these, she suflTered for the close im- 
prisonment and deadly peril of one she loved more than life. 

She had heard of the misfortune that threatened her friend 
Rose ; but what was that compared to the tremendous 
calamity that impended over Cassinove ? The young duchess 
had liberty and many friends ; Cassinove was alone in the 
prison cell, with no one but herself to comfort him. And 
Laura would not deprive the prisoner of one hour of her 
company, to bestow it on the more favored duchess. 

We have said that Laura Elmer confided all her secret 
anxieties to her friend. Doctor Clark. 

(>ne evening, after taking leave of Cassinove, and hearing 
the door locked upon him — a sound that tilways struck like a 
22 


854 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


death-knell upon her ear — she hurried home to her lodgings, 
and despatched a note to the venerable physician, entreating 
him to call on her at his earliest convenience. 

The good doctor waited upon her the same evening. 

He found her in those gloomy lodgings that she had taken 
ii. Skinner street for the sake of being near the prison. 

She was sitting at the small round table in the centre of 
the sombre room, whose tall and narrow windows overlooked 
the gloomy neighborhood of St. Sepulchre. She sat clothed 
in the deep mourning that she had never laid aside since her 
mother’s death, with her elbow resting upon the table, and 
her pale forehead bowed upon her hand, in an attitude of utter 
exhaustion. 

The good doctor was shocked to notice the change that 
had passed over her queenly person in the few days that had 
elapsed since he had seen her last. 

The emaciated figure, the pallid face, looking paler still in 
contrast to the large, dark eyes, and ebon locks, the look and 
attitude of mute despair, touched his heart. 

“ Miss Elmer,” he said, in a gentle, paternal tone, advanc- 
ing towards her. 

“ Doctor, this is very kind ; sit down,” she replied, rising, 
and placing a chair for him. “ Doctor,” she continued, as 
soon as he was seated, “ I wished to speak to you particu- 
larly this evening ” she hesitated in embarrassment. 

“ Dear child, speak on ; but try to take some hope and 
comfort to your heart.” 

“ Hope ? comfort ? Ah, doctor, when suspense verges so 
near despair, is it not better to know and confront the worst 
at once ? Methinks there would be the same relief in that 
as in death.” 

“ Despair is sinful, my child. You and I believe young 
Cttssinove to be guiltless. And believing him to be so, we 
must believe that he will be acquitted, which is equivalenL 
to believing in the justice of God, which it were impiety to 
doubt.” 

“ Doctor ! doctor I I have no more confidence in the 
security of innocence — the guiltless are sometimes con- 
demnel, you know it I You know it I” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


355 


“ No, I do not know it ! What can I know of the guilt or 
innocence any human bosom concealed from all eyes but 
those of Heaven ? But what I do know is that the Judge 
of all the earth is just, and that He will vindicate His justice, 
and save the guiltless. Laura Elmer, my child, if you 
would have a faith to sustain you under all the dark trials of 
life, you must resolutely shut your heart against every doubt ; 
believe every thing that is inconsistent with your faith to be 
misrepresentation, illusion, error, and only God true and just. 
To bring the matter close home to you : You believe, in the 
face of the most overwhelming evidence, that Cassinove is 
innocent ; carry your faith higher, and believe, in the face of 
all precedent and all probability, that God will vindicate that 
innocence because He is just I Get that faith, Laura Elmer 1 
and amid all the storm of grief and sorrow, your soul will 
repose upon it as upon a rock that cannot be shaken.’’ 

“You speak like one of the patriarchs of old. I grow 
strong and hopeful while I listen to you,” said Laura Elmer, 
earnestly. 

“ It is the power of the truth spoken, and not of the 
speaker,” said the doctor, humbly. “And now, my child, 
you must take care of yourself. You must not neglect need- 
ful food and rest, and refreshing exercise in the open air.” 

“ Doctor, it was not to talk of myself, but of Cassinove, 
that I requested you to come to me to-night. Have you 
seen him lately ?” 

“ No, my child : I have not had an hour’s leisure, except 
early in the morning or late in the evening, just before the 
prison doors are opened, or after they are closed. But to- 
morrow I will make the leisure, and surely see him.” 

“ He is fearfully changed, doctor ; you will be pained to see 
him ; he has grown so thin and pale from his long and close 
confinement in that dreary prison. And he is so desolate, 
doctor; can any man be more desolate than he is? Think 
of it ! — friendless, poor, and in prison, without father, mother, 
sister, or brother, without a frieni in the wide world, savo 
>nlv me ” She hesitated, and her pale cheek flushed. 

‘‘But you are all to him— his guardian angel.” 

“ I am his betrothed. I do all that I may him, yet 


356 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


not enough ; I cannot be all that I might be to him were I 
his sister — or his wife,” added Laura Elmer in a lower tone. 

“ Well, my dear ?” said the doctor, seeing her hesitate. 

. “ Oh, doctor, that I were only his sister, or bis wife, that 
[ might have the privilege of being with him always, so that 
he might never more feel desolate and alone in his sorrow. 

Doctor, I cannot be his sister, but ” She hesitated, and 

again her pale cheek flushed. 

“ You might be his wife,” said the doctor, finishing her 
sentence. 

“ I promised to be so long ago. Doctor, if instead of 
coming into Newgate, Ferdinand Cassinove had come into 
an inheritance, the first use he would have made of his 
property would have been to ask me to share it with him. 
Doctor, have I not the same right to share his adversity 
cried Laura, with a burst of tears. 

“My child, I know not what to say to you,” said the good 
physician, in painful perplexity. 

“ Doctor, lay aside all conventional thoughts, come back 
to the first principles of justice and mercy, and listen to me. 
I, like Ferdinand Cassinove, am alone in the world ; I 
have no relatives whose pride might be wounded through 
me. The fate that made me friendless, left me free. I am 
the betrothed bride of Ferdinand Cassinove. I would redeem 
my pledge to him now in his captivity, even as he would 
have me redeem it in his pro?perity, were he now free and 
fortunate. My heart craves with a yearning beyond measure 
for the lawful privilege of watching over him in his captivity, 
standing by him in his trial, comforting as I only of all on 
earth can comfort him — and oh ! if he should be condemned 
to die, sharing with him the ignominy, if I cannot share the 
death !” she concluded, with a burst of irrepressible weeping. 

“My child, my child, I understand you, but I know not 
how to answer you. I must have time to reflect. If I were 
the father of a family of daughters I miglu better know what 
to say to you, for I would speak to you as tv. my own child. 
But I am an old bachelor, with little knowledge of life beside 
the study and the sick-room. Yet I feel for you both with 
all my heart and soul. I will serve you to the very best of 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 357 

my ability,” said the good old man, with his eyes full of 
tears. 

“Doctor, I know it, and I thank you from the depths of 
my heart. Doctor, listen to me farther.- This privilege that 
I crave would be the "greatest possible consolation to me, 
and — take notice, doctor — the only possible chance of safety to 
Cassinohe.^’ 

“ The only chance of safety to Cassinove !” echoed Doctor 
Clark, in extreme surprise. 

“ Yes, doctor, his only chance of life rests in this relation- 
ship.” 

“ My dear Miss Elmer, explain yourself.” 

Listen, then. In the confusion and distress that imme- 
diately followed the discovery of the murder of Sir Vincent 
Lester, I was overlooked or forgotten. At least, I was not 
summoned as a witness before the coroner’s inquest. There 
were, perhaps, witnesses in plenty without me, who testified 
directly to those fatal circumstances that were deemed quite 
sufficient to convict Cassinove. And I was glad to be left 
out. But now the continual gossip of the people and the 
press, concerning the tragedy at Lester House, brings my name 
more and more into the affair, and under the notice of the 
authorities. They hint at a cause of that murder, that makes 
my cheeks burn and my heart shudder. I live in the daily 
dread of being subpoenaed to testify as to this cause on the 
approaching trial. But if I bore this relationship to him, 
doctor, 1 would not be compelled to give evidence against 
him.” 

“ But would your evidence so seriously affect Cassinove ?” 

“ It would put the seal upon his fate.” 

“ For heaven’s sake. Miss Elmer, what is the nature of 
this testimony ?” 

“ It is this. If I should be subpoenaed as a witness on this trial, 
I should bA examined upon a subject which, apart from all my 
deep sympathy with the prisoner, would distress me deeply, 
would indeed crimson my brow with humiliation. I should 
have to speak of the evident antagonism between the late Sir 
Vincent Lester and Ferdinand Cassinove, and its cause ” 

“ But in doing that, my dear Miss Elmer, you would only 


358 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


corroborate ine testimonjof many others as already given on 
the coroner’s inquest. The antagonism between the deceased 
baronet and the prisoner was, as you expressed it, ‘evident^ 
tc all the household.” 

“Yes, and if that were all, my testimony would be of little 
importance ; but, oh heaven I I should have to testify to a 
fatal circumstance which the prosecution does not even sus- 
pect, to which I, of all the world, was the sole witness ; and 
even though I know him to be guiltless, my testimony would 
put the final seal upon his doom.” 

“ Miss Elmer, my child, tell me what this circumstance was, 
that I may judge of its importance. You may confide in me 
with perfect safety, for I shall never repeat your words; and 
even if I were capable of such a breach of confidence, it could 
do no harm since ‘hearsay’ is no legal evidence.” 

“ It was a fierce and deadly quarrel between Ferdinand 
Cassinove and Sir Vincent Lester on the evening preceding 
he murder of the baronet,” said Laura, in a low and shud- 
dering voice. 

“ Good heaven. Miss Elmer I” exclaimed the doctor, in 
dismay, 

“ Yes ; but I am the only one in the world who knows of 
this fatal quarrel. No one else on earth even suspects it. It 
took place in my school-roora after school-hours, and imme- 
diately after the baronet’s discovery of my betrothal to Cas- 
sinove. If I were to be subpoenaed I should have to testify 
of this fatal quarrel, aud thus supply the only link in the chain 
of circumstantial evidence against an innocent man, and that 
man my best friend in the world. Thus you see Cassinovc’s 
life is in my hands. Yet I can only save him in one way, by 
taking a position that will make it impossible for me to give 
evidence against him ; in one word, I can only hope to save 
Cassinove by redeeming at once my promise to become his 
wife. So you see how strong my whole argument is.” 

“ I see, I see, my poor child ! my loving, self-sacrificing 
child, I see it all ! Tell me how I can serve you. What 
W'ould you have me to do ?” 

“ Doctor, you are a Christian gentleman — you believe in 
effectual nrayer, and in providential guidance. Go home. 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


869 


and reflect on all that I have told you. Put away all worldly 
thoughts and all conventional ideas. Think only of justice, 
faith and mercy. Pray to the Lord for direction ; and to- 
morrow, when you visit Cassinove, you will know what to 
say and do,” replied Laura Elmer, with sweet gravity, and 
she arose as if to close the interview. 

He also arose. He looked at her — beautiful, pale statue 
that she seemed — and taking her hand, replied : 

“ I will, my child, I will ; and may the Lord guide my 
thoughts, and direct and comfort you. Good-night.” And 
he raised her hand to his lips, and departed. 


CHAPTER XXXL 

A STRANGE SCENE IN NEWGATE. 


Thou hast called me thine angel in moments of bliss; 

Still thine angel I’ll be through the horrors of this. — Moore. 


The next day, as soon as the prison doors were open. 
Dr. Clark took his way to Newgate. The prison is divided 
into the male and female wards — there is no other attempt at 
separation. 

Dr. Clark turned into the male ward, where prisoners of 
all classes were confined together — an old, hardened criminal, 
and a youth merely suspected of offence, often sharing to- 
gether the same cell ; while the whole mass of prisoners, the 
burglar, the forger, the 'thief and the murderer, took their 
meals together at the same board, and their limited exercise 
in the same small courtyard or the same prison hall. 

“And this is the wretched crowd through which Miss 
Elmer must pass on her visits to Cassinove,” groaned the 
good doctor, as be loathingly followed the turnkey along a 
passage flanked with cells, and perambulated by miserable 
and brutal-looking men in every stage of vice, crime and 


360 


THE BRIDA.L EVE. 


wretchedness, to the separate cell which the kindness of the 
governor had assigned to Cassinove. 

Oassinove being yet untried, was not a close prisoner, and 
if he confined himself to his cell, it was to avoid contact with 
the degraded and brutalized mass of prisoners. 

The turnkey conducted the doctor to the door of the cell, 
and civilly retired. The doctor went in. 

The C(dl was a small, clean, well-lighted den, having on the 
right side a broad shelf against the wall, with a mattress and 
coarse coverlet upon it by way of a bed, and on the left side 
a plain deal table, with a bench before it. 

Cassinove sat at the table, with his face partly averted 
from the door, and his head bowed upon his hand in a state 
of abstraction so deep as to render him unconscious of the 
gentle step of the doctor, who had thus an opportunity of 
observing him. 

There were writing materials before him, but he seemed tc 
have forgotten them. He was pale and wasted with the 
mental suffering that even now absorbed his mind and corru- 
gated his brow. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Cassinove,” said the doctor, softly. 

lie started nervously ; then recovering himself he arose 
with his usual courtesy, and held out his hand, saying, with 
a smile — 

“ This is tery kind. Doctor Clark.” 

He then offered the doctor his seat, and placed himself on 
the side of his bed. ^ 

“ Ton have been writing, I perceive,” said the doctor, by 
way of commencing a conversation that he foresaw would be 
a very embarrassing one. 

“ Yes, as early as it is, my counsel has just left me. We 
have been talking over the best manner of conducting my de- 
fence, and I am making notes upon the only two points upon 
which I can lay any stress — the only thing that can save me, 
if any thing can save me under such an overwhelming ava- 
lanche of circumstantial evidence.” 

“And those two points of your defence, my dear young 
friend, what are they ?” 

“The first is an unimpeachably good character, for 1 do not 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


361 




think there is a soul in the universe who could charge me with 
a single swerve from moral recitude up to the hour ‘of my 
an-cst ” 

“A strong argument in your favor, and yet not weighty 
enough in itself to withstand the mass of circumstantial eri 
deuce against you. What is the second?” 

“The second is the total absence of the slightest motive on 
my part for the commission of such a crime.” 

“A very strong point, indeed, and one which should sup- 
port you, unless it should be overthrown by rebutting evi- 
dence.^’ 

“ By rebutting evidence^ sir ?” questioned Cassinove, 
doubtfully. 

“I mean unless the opposite can be proved — unless it can 
be shown that with you the motive to the deed was not absent 
— unless it can be shown that there was Jealousy and anger 
on your part, and a quarrel with the baronet,” said the doctor, 
very gravely. 

Cassinove looked at him in painful surprise. 

“ My dear young friend, is it possible that you have for- 
gotten the angry encounter between yourself and the baronet 
on the evening preceding the murder ?” inquired the doctor, 
seriously. 

“ No ! good heaven ! no ! but that encounter left no bitter- 
ness in my heart, and I had thought nothing of it,” replied 
Cassinove, in dismay. 

“ It will be hard to make the jury believe that it aid not, when 
they know what followed.it. No, Cassinove, the testimony to 
that encounter and quarrel between yourself and the baronet 
on the evening preceding the murder, is the only link want- 
ing in the chain of circumstantial evidence that may convict an 
innocent man. Therefore, Cassinove, that testimony must 
not go before the jury.” 

“But how to prevent it?” inquired Cassinove, doubtfully. 

“ There was but one witness to that encounter,” said the 
doctor. 

“ But one ?” 

“ She has not yet been subpoenaed to appear on the trial, but 
ehe may be so any day this week; therefore, she must be 


3G2 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


placed in a position to incapacitate her from giving evidence 
against you.” 

“ Good heaven, doctor 1 what is it that you mean ?” cried 
Cassinove, in agitation. 

“ Laura Elmer has long been your betrothed ; you must 
make her your wife ; as such, she cannot be summoned to 
bear witness against you.” 

“ Not for ten thousand worlds I not to save my body from 
death, and my soul from Hades, would I drag that noble lady 
down to share the deep degradation of my present lot I” ex- 
claimed Cassinove, rising and pacing excitedly the narrow 
space of his cell. 

“ I judged your answ^er would be such,” observed the doctor, 
quietly. 

Why I loathe even to have her come here through all 
these degraded and brutalized wretches, even though her dear 
presence is the sweetest solace that I have. And when I see 
her coming, she seems an angel from heaven descending into 
Hades to comfort some lost spirit there. And you would 
nave me marry her to save my own life I No I not to save 
my soul from eternal death would I draw down that noblest 
lady to such misery.” 

“Aye, I judged you would speak and think even so. But 
now, just resume your seat, and listen to me calmly while I 
speak to you ; after which you may jump up and obstreperate 
if you like to do so.” 

With an impatient gesture, Cassinove sunk down on his 
seat upon the bed. 

The doctor resumed : 

“ You say that not to save your life or soul will you draw 
down this noblest lady to share your own degradation and 
misery. Cassinove, where there is no crime, there can be no 
degradation. And as for your misery, Laura Elmer already 
shares that as deeply as one individual can share the troubles 
of another. It is killing her.” 

“ I know it I Oh, I know it 1” groaned Cassinove. 

“ The only comfort she has in this affliction is found in 
ministering to you.” 

* True, true ; she is the angel of whom I spoke.” 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


363 


“ But if she should be compelled to give that fatal evidence 
against you, and you should be — as you certainly would 
be — convicted upon her testimony, she would look upon her- 
self as your murderer; she never would survive the catas- 
trophe of your fate ; it would be her death-blow ; she would 
die of a violently broken heart. Judge, yourself, whether 
this would not be the fate of Laura Elmer 

“I believe it ! I believe it! Oh, heaven, that I could die 
before the trial comes on. and so save her from such distress,” 
groaned Cassinove 

‘‘ There is but one way. To save her from being your 
executioner, you must make her your wife!” 

‘‘ But it is horrible to think of sacrificing her to my miserable 
necessities.” 

“ It will not be sacrificing her ; it will be taking the only 
course to save you from death, and her from distress worse 
than death.” 

“ But if, after all, without her evidence, and simply upon 
that of others, I should be convicted — ” 

“ But you must not think of that ; you, a guiltless man 
must take every proper means for your defence, and expec 
to be acquitted. The most obvious means now is to marry 
Miss Elmer.” 

‘‘But Laura — ” 

“I will escort her to you to-day, and you must see for 
yourself. Only remember, that there is no time to be lost.” 

“ But, then, the difficulties attending such a ceremony in 
such a place as this.” 

“ I will smooth them. .Say nothing to any one upon the 
subject. I will bring Miss Elmer here on her daily visit to 
you. Then I will go and take out a special license and bring 
it, together with your own pastor, who will come as if on an 
ordinary pastoral visit to you. We will then close the door 
and commence the ceremony. I will both give the bride away 
and witness the marriage. After Avhich, she may defy the 
subpoena, and thus the heaviest testimony will be lost to the 
prosecution,” said the doctor. 

And much more was argued upon the same subject before, 
at length, the argument of the doctor prevailed upon Mr. 


864 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Cassinove to accept so great a sacrifice as that which he be- 
lieved the hand of Laura Elmer would be. 

And then the doctor took his leave for a short time to 
make the arrangements for the strange marriage. 

First, he called at the lodgings of Miss Elmer, whom he 
found dressed as if for a walk. 

“ My carriage is at the door, my child, and if you are going 
to visit our prisoner this morning, I will gladly take you 
there,” said the doctor, artfully. 

“ I thank you ; I was just going ; I am quite ready, and 
need not detain you an instant,” said Miss Elmer, joining him. 

lie took her down, placed her in the carriage, and drove 
rapidly to the prison. He took her into the prison, through 
all the halls and passages to the cell of Cassinove, saw her 
enter, and then withdrew to complete the arrangements that 
he had undertaken to make. First, he went and procured the 
special license. Then he called upon Cassinove’s old pastor, 
the Rev. Henry Watson, of St. Matthews. He found the good 
old man in his study, and in a private interview, explained to 
him the service for which he was wanted. 

Now, among the very few who had an unshaken faith in the 
innocence of Cassinove, was the Rev. Mr. Watson, the pastor, 
who had known him intimately from childhood up to maturity. 
So after a little hesitation at the -strangeness of the service 
required of him, and after being assured by the doctor that 
there were good reasons why the marriage should be solem- 
nized, the good man yielded to his faith in Doctor Clark and 
in Cassinove, and though greatly mystified, consented to go 
and perform the ceremony. 

'In the meantime Laura Elmer had passed into the cell of 
her betrothed. 

Cassinove was sitting just where the doctor had left him, 
on the side of his mattress, with his hands clasped together, 
and his head sunk upon his breast. He looked up as Laura 
entered, and rising, extended his hands to her, saying — 

“Oh, Laura I oh, my guardian spirit! ean you surmise 
what Doctor Clark has been saying to me this morning ?” 

“ Yes, yes, mine own, for I se.nt him to say it,” replied 
Laura Elmer, with noble truthfulness, as she placed both her 
bands in his. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


365 


“And are you, my ‘beautiful preserver, prepared for the 
sacrifice, which indeed I fear it is doing a great wrong to ask 
of you ?” 

She replied in almost the identical words used by the 
doctor — 

“ It will be no sacrifice on my part. It is the only possi- 
ble way to save yourself from an unjustly-inflicted death, and 
me from a fatal remorse.” 

“Alas ! Laura ! when I first met and worshipped you — 
when I first dared to dream of the joy of making you my own 
— this was not the sort of bridal I pictured to myself!” said 
Cassinove, with a deep groan, 

“ No, my own ; you thought of conquering fortune, and 
laying it at my feet, and of lifting me to a position higher, if 
possible, than that from which I fell. This is what you 
planned for me. And because you planned it, and because 
it pleased Heaven to disappoint your generous plan, here am 
I at your side, as willing — oh, yes — as willing to share your 
sorrows as ever I should have been to share your joys,” said 
Laura, sitting down beside him. 

“ Oh 1” groaned Cassinove, “ if my guiltlessness is no plea 
to heaven or earth in my behalf, surely this woman’s good- 
ness must be 1 Surely, for her sake, God will bring light 
out of this great darkness I Heaven will not leave her to 
suffer I” 

Thus they conversed together .until their conference was 
interrupted by the opening of the cell-door, and the appear- 
ance of the warden, who ushered in a lady closely veiled, and 
retired 

The lady threw aside her veil, and disclosed the sweet face 
of a friend. 

“ My dearest Rose 1” cried Laura Elmer, rising to embrace 
her. 

“ The Duchess of Beresleigh I” exclaimed Mr. Cassinove, 
in surprise. 

“ Yes, it is I, my friends, come to see you once more. In- 
deed, I should have come sooner, but I have been ill ; and 
oh I in so much trouble. You have heard about it, Miss 
Elmer V* 


366 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


“Yes, sweet Rose! I heard, and I 'should have gone to 
you, but sorrows — such dark sorrows as ours — make us 
selfish, I fear,’' said Laura Elmer, as her heart smote her for 
the neglect of this gentle friend. 

“ I could not expect you to come, dear Miss Elmer. Doctor 
Clark, who attended me in my illness, told me ” 

“ That Miss Elmer was performing the part of a Sister of 
Charity to a lonely prisoner so zealously as to leave her no 
time to bestow upon her friends,” said Cassinove, regretfully. 

“ Something like that, indeed. But I consider such duties 
so sacred as fully to exonerate Miss Elmer. I fully expected 
to find her here, and I am glad to have found her.” 

“ I am here every day, dear Rose, to lighten as much as 
possible these dreary prison-hours. But I am here to-day 
for an especial purpose. Therefore, I am pleased that to-day 
of all days, you should be present,” said Laura Elmer, 
gravely. 

The young duchess looked from one to the other for an ex- 
planation. 

“ You are here involuntarily to witness a marriage,” said 
Laura Elmer. 

Rose looked more perplexed than before. 

“ Miss Elmer does not wish to be called as a witness on my 
approaching trial. To prevent this, she is about to bestow 
upon me her hand. Tell me, madam, for you are a disinter- 
ested judge, am I not doing a great wrong to accept so vast 
a sacrifice ?” said Cassinove, 

“ But I do not understand,” said Rose. 

“ She would immolate herself for the bare chance of saving 
my life,” began Cassinove ; but Laura gently placed her hand 
before his lips to stop his farther speech, and turning to the 
duchess, briefly, and in a low voice, explained the urgent 
necessity for the immediate marriage. 

“You are right, dear Laura; I feel that you are quite 
right, although not one in a hundred would think it right, 
and not one in a thousand dare to do it even if they thought 
so,” said Rose, earnestly. 

“ I air pleased that you agree with me, dear,” replied Miss 
Elmer. 


THE BBIDAL EVE. 


367 


“And I am very much pleased that I happen to l/e here to 
bupport you, dear Laura ! You required a woman’s presence 
now did you not ? Say so, to please me, dear Laura.” 

“I can say so with great sincerity, sweet Rose. I did 
indeed need the presence of some woman-friend, and I am 
most happy to have yours,” replied Miss Elmer. 

Once more they were interrupted by the opening of the 
cell-door and the entrance of Doctor Clark and Mr. Watson, 
who were ushered in by the turnkey, who immediately with- 
drew. 

Doctor Clark recognized the Duchess of Beresleigh with 
surprise and pleasure, bowed, and presented the Rev. Mr. 
Watson. 

The little party quite filled up the narrow cell. 

“ The officers of the prison seem to think that you are hold- 
ing a levee this morning, Cassinove, and are probably won- 
dering what it is about. I did not think proper to volunteer 
an explanation,” said Doctor Clark, cheerfully. 

“Young lady,” said the minister, approaching Miss Elmer, 
and speaking in a low voice, “ is this step that you are about 
to take well considered ?” 

“Yes, sir, it is well considered,” answered Laura Elmer, 
gravely and firmly. 

“ In the name of heaven, then, I must proceed. Stand 
up, if you please,” said the minister, opening his book. 

Cassinove arose, and led Laura Elmer before him. 

Doctor Clark took his place beside Cassinove, and the 
young duchess stood by Laura Elmer. 

The marriage ceremony was commenced with the usual 
formulas. When they came to tlie question — “Who giveth 
this woman to be married to this man ?” 

“ I do,” said the venerable Doctor Clark, taking the hand 
of the bride and placing it in the hand of the bridegroom. 

When they reached the point where the ring was required, 
there was no ring forthcoming. Good Doctor Clark had en- 
tirely forgotten ,th at little necessity. 

But the young duchess, hastily drawing a circlet of diamonds 
from her finger, offered it for the purpose,- saying — 

“ Keep it, dear Laura, it is the emblem of truth.” 


868 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


The ring was placed upon her finger ; the vows were made, 
the prayers offered, the benediction bestowed, and the mar- 
riage ceremony concluded. 

And thus, in the cell at Newgate, with the prison walls 
rising darkly around, and the scaffold looming fatally in the 
distance, Laura Elmer was made a bride. 

Laura Elmer, with the splendid preparations for whose high 
nuptials this story opened. 

Deeply Cassinove felt this contrast as he pressed his mourn ■ 
ing bride for an instant to his heart. 

Deeply, "also, Rose felt it as she threw herself weeping into 
the arms of her friend. 

Laura only was, as usual, composed, though very pale. 

After the cordial clasping of hands, and earnestly breathed 
good wishes, their friends' departed, leaving the newly-mar 
ried pair together. 

At the usual hour for closing, Laura took leave of Cassi- 
nove, and returned to her lodgings. She had soon good 
reason to know that her marriage had not taken place one 
Lour too soon. 

The next morning, while she was preparing to come out, a 
sheriff’s officer was shown into her room, who served her with 
a document that proved to be a subpoena, addressed to Laura 
Elmer, spinster, and ordering her,' under peril of certain pains 
and penalties, to appear upon a certain day at the Central 
Criminal Court, Old Bailey, as a witness on the part of the 
prosecution in the case of “The Crown versus Ferdinand 
Cassinove, charged with the wilful murder of Sir Yincent 
Lester, Baronet.” 

Laura read it, and returned it, saying — 

“ This does not concern me. My name is not Elmer, neither 
am I a single woman.” 

“ Then will you be good enough to tell me where I can find 
Aliss Laura Elmer ?” 

“Nowhere, I presume; I, who once bore that name, have 
now another.” 

“ Then, madam, will you be so good as to tell .me your new 
name, that I may have the mistake corrected ?’’ said the officer, 
taking out his tablets. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


8(39 


‘ You need not give yourself that trouble. I am tne wife* 
of Ferdinand Gassinove, and therefore incapacitaLed from 
giving evidence on his trial,” said Laura, gently. 

The officer looked at her in surprise, and then muttering 
that he would see about it, departed. 

And Laura Elmer went on her way to the prison, where 
she found Ferdinand Gassinove in close consultation with his 
counsel. The latter arose with a smile to greet the lady, 
saying— 

“ My client has just told me of the ceremony that took 
place here yesterday morning. I had already learned that a 
subpoena was out for you this morning, one day too late. 
V(Mj have achieved a great stroke of diplomacy, madam, and 
.^avcd my client.” 

’• If any thing can save him in such extremity,” murmured 
Gassinove, under his breath. 

“ When does the trial come on, sir ?” inquired Laura of the 
lawyer. 

“To-morrow, madam.” 


GHAPTER XXXIl. 

TRIAL FOR LIFE. 


No change comes o’er thy noble brow 
Though ruin is around thee, 

Thy eye-beam burns as brightly now 
As when the laurel bound thee. 


It was the morning of the day of the trial— :he trial, 
par excellence, of the session — the trial of the tutor, Ferdi- 
nand Gassinove, for the murder of his employer. Sir Vincent 
Lester, one of the oldest baronets of England. 

All London was talking of it. It formed the subject of 
conversation at every breakfast-table, every office and every 
shop in the city, as well »s at the chambers of Messrs. Glagett 
and Fulmer, counsel for the prisoner, and at the cell at New- 
23 


370 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


gate, where Ferdinand Cassinove awaited his summons to 
the court-room. 

.Men are murdered every month, and other men are tried 
for the crime; but then the victims are not baronets of the 
creation of 1600. 

In this case there was not that contrariety of optUion that 
usually attends popular judgment upon any public event. 

The public had made up its mind with great unanimity 
that Cassinove was guilty, and that he must be convicted of 
course, so that there could be no anxiety as to the result of 
the trial, but notwithstanding that, people were curious to 
know the particulars of the dreadful tragedy at Lester House 
as they could only know them through the evidence given at 
the trial ; they wished to see how the prosecution would bo 
conducted ; how the defence would be managed ; and, above 
all, how the prisoner would conduct himself during the trial 
and the execution which they insisted must certainly follow. 

At an unusually early hour, a crowd, composed in part of 
the most respectable citizens of London, collected in front of 
the Old Bailey to await the opening of the doors. 

As soon as the doors were thrown open, this crowd pressed 
into the court-room as into a play-house, to witness the 
agonizing spectacle of a fellow-creature on trial for his life, as 
if it had been a play got up for their entertainment. 

At ten o’clock the judges entered the court-room, and took 
their places on the bench. 

And soon after the order was given to bring in the 
prisoner. 

All eyes were now turned in the direction of the door 
through which the prisoner was expected to enter. 

And in a few minutes Ferdinand Cassinove made his 
uj)pearance, walking between two police-officers. 

His step was firm, his carriage erect, his glance keen, and 
his bearing proud. His face was pale only in contrast to 
the darkness of the ebon locks that waved around his lofty 
brow, and the sable suit of clerical cloth that formed his usual 
costume. 

Behind him walked Laura, clothed in deep mourning, and 
leaning on the arm of the venerable Doctor Clark. 


THE BRIDAL EVE* 


871 


All eyes were fixed upon this little sorrowful procession as 
it passed up the room. All tongues were busy in criticism 
upon it. 

“ How very handsome the prisoner is !” said one of those 
jadies, who, I regret to say, formed a considerable portion of 
the assembly. 

“A line face,” said another. 

“A noble figure,” remarked a third. 

How extremely interesting I” exclaimed a fourth. 

“ Hem I villains usually are so, mesdames,” remarked one 
of their attendant gentlemen. 

“But who is that beautiful dark woman in black, on the 
arm of the gray-haired man, walking behind the prisoner ?” 
inquired another. 

“ That must be his wife, the young person who was gov- 
erness at Lester Hou.se at the time that he was tutor there, 
and who has married him since his arrest. There are few 
women who would do such a thing as that to save any man.” 

“ I thought that the story of the marriage was a mere news- 
paper report.” 

“ No, it is a fact, I assure you ; it is supposed that she sac- 
rificed herself to avoid giving testimony against him.” 

And here the speaker began to relate all he thought he 
knew about the marriage in question. 

Meanwhile the little procession moved on. On reaching 
the upper end of the court-room, near the bench, it was 
divided. 

Laura was accommodated with a seat near Mr. Cassinove’a 
counsel. 

Doctor Clark unwillingly took his place among the wit- 
nesses on the part of the Crown. 

And Ferdinand Cassinove was ushered into the prisoner's 
dock. He looked around himself, over the sea of faces up- 
turned to his; no friendly look among them; the hundreds 
of eyes fixed upon him ; no kindly glance from them. Curi- 
osity, horror, and vindictiveness was the expression of the 
multitude. 

Cassinove turned away, and sat down with a sinking heart. 
He had neve* before, even as a witness or a spectator, entered 


872 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


a criminal court. And although for many days he had boon 
gradually approaching this crisis, and had supposed himself 
fully prepared to meet it, yet the fact of his present position 
now struck him with all the force of4i sudden shock. 

A gi’eat deal of nonsense has been talked and written about 
the boldness of innocence — the “sustaining power of con- 
scious innocence,” etc. It is not true. Innocence alone is 
too feeble and timid a thing to put on a bold front, or support 
any one in a world like this. We have all of us seen innocence 
stand confounded at the bare charge of crime, and guilt brave 
it out to the last ; and if Ferdinand Cassinove maintained a 
firm and undaunted bearing above his sinking heart, it was 
not from conscious innocence, although he knew he possessed 
it, but from a certain natural courage, fortitude, and self-re- 
spect, that stood him in good stead. He next turned his 
eyes down upon the witnesses for the prosecution, who were 
seated together on his left hand. They were principally the 
family from Lester House, among whom Cassinove regretted 
to see the widowed Lady Lester, whom he recognized by her 
figure and her weeds, though her face was quite concealed 
behind the thick folds of her black crape veil. She was sup- 
ported by her eldest son, and surrounded by her domestics’. 
This sorrowing group, all in the deepest mourning for the 
murdered head of the family, added much to the painful solem- 
nity of the scene, and to the strong popular feeling against 
the murderer. 

Wearily, despairingly, Cassinove turned from this black 
ju-ray to look upon the group of witnesses for the defence, 
who were seated on his right hand. They were very few in 
number — consisting of his venerable pastor, his old school- 
master, and his old nurse, all come to testify to the excellence 
of his character from his childhood up. With these Cas- 
sinove was astonished to see old' Colonel Hastings, dressed 
in deep mourning, and looking worn and wasted as though 
from long illness. Cassinove • beckoned Mr. Fulmer, his 
junior counsel, and inquired — 

“ How came Colonel Hastings hither ?” 

“ He presented himself this morning as a voluntary wit- 
uess for the defence. He has just arrived from Baden- 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 873 

Baden, where his constitution received a terrible shock in the 
death of his only and idolized son.” 

“ The death of his son ? Mr. Albert Hastings ? When 
did he die ?” inquired Cassinove, in surprise. 

“About a month ago.” 

“ Was he long ill 

“In body, not an hour. In mind, always, I fear I Ho 
blew his brains out after losing fifty thousand pounds at a 
card-table in Baden-Baden. It has broken his father’s heart, 
as you may see. The old man was ill for many days after 
the catastrophe, and has only just now arrived in England, to 
serve you if he can, he says.” 

“I am very sorry for his awful bereavement. But he is so 
little a friend of mine, that I am surprised to see him here 
as a witness for the defence.” 

“Affliction such as his changes the whole spirit of a man. 
He has nothing more to hope for in this world, and nothing 
to do but to prepare for the next. Perhaps, if he has’ been 
unjust to you, he wishes to make you amends,” suggested 
the lawyer. 

“No, I cannot complain that he has ever been unjust to 
me ; he has only been unfriendly, with what, I suppose, he 
considered good reason,” said Cassinove ; and the short con- 
versation ended, and the counsel returned to his place. 

Cassinove once more turned his attention to the witnesses 
for the defence, and now, for the first time, he noticed, seated 
among them, a young lad, dressed like so many in this sor- 
rowful assembly, in funereal black. As he gazed in surprise 
and doubt, the boy turned his face full upon the prisoner, 
who immediately recognized his late pupil, young Percy 
Lester. Percy Lester among the witnesses for the defence, 
while his mother and brother sat arrayed upon the side of th# 
prosecution I Cassinove knew that the youth had been ver\ 
fo.id of him, but he had not expected to find him there. 
Tears that nothing ette could have brought there filled his 
eyes as he gazed upon the lad. Percy saw this, and began 
to fidget in his seat, and finally, addressing himself to one of 
the lawyers near him, he said — 

“ Please, sir, may I be permitted to speak to the 
prisoner ?” 


874 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Yes, if you will be quick and quiet, for the proceedings 
are about to commence.” 

The boy left his seat, and gliding quickly and quietly as 
he had been directed, reached the dock, and held up his hand 
to the prisoner, saying — 

“ See, Mr. Cassinove I Look at me, for all these people 
can say and do, they can never make me. believe you guilty. 
If they could, Mr. Cassinove, I never could offer you my 
hand as I do now, could I ?” 

“No, Percy, no; nor could I take your innocent hand 
were mine stained with your father’s blood,” answered Cas- 
sinove, with strong emotion, as he pressed tljat young hand 
fervently. 

“ I know it, Mr. Cassinove, and even when I grieved most 
for mv father, I grieved also for you, and my anger burned 
against the murderer whose one act sent him to his grave 
and you to a prison. For I knew in my soul that you were 
not guilty, because you never would hurt a bird, or a fish, or ^ 
even a fly, and so I continued to tell everybodjq until, at 
ast, they subpoenaed me to tell the same thing to the jury 
here. And I am glad to come and give them my opinion. . 
So, if it should go very hard with you, Mr. Cassinove, and 
every one should continue to scowl at you as they are doing 
now, you turn and look at me, 'so that I may look my 
thoughts, and say you are innocent even when I must not 
speak.” 

“ I will I dear boy, I will ! God bless you, lad ! you do 
not know how greatly your simple faith in my innocence 
comforts me, whereas, if I were really guilty, that same faith 
of yours would pierce my bosom like a sword,” said Cassinove, 
fervently pressing the boy’s hand. 

“ But your mother, my dear Percy ?” inquired Cassinove. 

“ My mother is on the other side, to be sure ; but then she 
does not feel half so confident in your guilt as she did at first. 
Then, you know, she was distracted %ith grief, and said 
things she is sorry for now, and that caused her to be sub- 
poenaed here as a witness against you.” 

“ Well, God bless you, Percy, for your steadfast faith ! And 
flow, dear boy, you had better return to your place, as I 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


875 


believe they are about to commence,” said Cassinove, once 
more pressing the 3miing hand that had been so kindU' ex- 
tended to him. 

Ill passing on to his seat among the witnesses, Percy stojiped 
to shake hands with Laura, and to say : 

“ I wish I might sit b^-- you, but you see how it is here.” 

“ I thank you, dear Perc}", for your good-will ; and oh, 
Perc\^ ! if you should live to be an old man, it will make you 
happy to remember this day of your youth when your boyish 
hand was held out to comfort one in sore affliction,” said Laura, 
fervently, as the bo}^ pressed her fingers, and pas.sed on to his 
seat. 

The crier now commanded silence in court, and the crowd 
immediately became quiet. 

The deputy clerk of the arraigns then arose, and called' 
upon the prisoner to .stand forward, and give attention while 
the indictment was read, 

Cassinove arose, and advanced to the front of the dock. 

The clerk then proceeded to read the indictment, setting 
forth that on the first day of October, between the hours of 
one and two in the morning, Ferdinand Cassinove, the pris- 
oner at the bar, being instigated by the devil, with malice 
aforethought, did feloniously break into the bed-chamber of 
Sir Vincent Lester, Baronet, and him wilfully murder bv in 
dieting upon him with a dagger two mortal wounds through 
the heart. 

When the reading of the indictment was finished, the 
prisoner was directed to hold up his hand, while the clerk o^* 
arraigns demanded : 

“Ferdinand Cassinove, you have heard the indictmer 
charging you with the wilful murder of Sir Vincent Lester. 
Are you guilty or not guilty of the felony laid to your 
charge ?” 

“ Not guilty, so help^ie God, in this my utmost need.” sai.i 
Cassinove, in a tone of profound emotion, elevating his hand 
as though appealing to the Omniscient Judge of all righteou.s- 
ness. 

To the usual question as to how he would be tried, he gave 
the usu il answer, “ By God and my country,” and then re 


376 


THE BEIDAL EVE 


Bunjed his seat amid low murmurs of sympathy, called forth 
by his youth, graceful bearing, and earnest manner of pleading. 

The Attorney-General then taking the indictment in his 
hand, proceeded to open the case for the Crown b}'' stating at 
large the facts attending the murder for which the prisoner a 
the bar had been indicted, commented severely as he pro 
gressed upon the atrocious , nature of homicide in general, and 
of this murder in particular, wherein he said were all the 
vices of ingratitude, hypocrisy, and cowardice. Wherein the 
prisoner, young in years, but old in crime, had heinously 
murdered his own benefactor — not in broad daylight, face to 
face with his intended victim — no ! but “ in the dead waste 
and middle of the night,” when all the household, save him- 
self, had sunk to innocent repose, the cowardly assassin stole 
to the bedchamber of Sir Vincent Lester, and there, in that 
scene of stillness, in that hour of darkness, while the victim 
lay helpless in sleep — “innocent sleep” — plunged the dagger 
into the heart of his benefactor. 

Here the prisoner’s face flushed crimson ; it was terrible to 
sit and hear these charges of baseness, which his soul scorned, 
made upon him without his being able as yet to reply. He 
looked towards his young wife. Her eyes were fixed upon 
him with devoted afifcction ; their steady glance said, plainly — 

“ Oh, be patient; this is bat a form, in which the officer does 
but his usual duty.” 

And for her sweet sake, Cassinove controlled the swelling 
emotions of his soul, and preserved an exterior of calmness 
during the remainder of the long denunciatory speech of the 
Attorney-General, who perorated with the usual statement 
that he should now undertake to prove the facts in the in- 
dictment, and the guilt of the prisoner, by competent wit 
nesses, and sat down. 

The clerk then called the name of — 

“ Clara, Lady Lester.” 

And there was a general rising and craning of necks b* 
catch a glimpse of the baronet’s wido\^, as she moved from 
her seat among the witnesses and went forward to take the 
Stand, where her stout, black-robed, deeply-veded .^.ood 
revealed to all eyes. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


377 


After having the oath duly administered to her, she was 
requested to look at the prisoner, and turned to meet the full, 
dark eyes of Cassinove fixed with a look of anxious integrity 
upon her. This was the first time she had seen him since 
the night of the murder, and his expression of countenance 
evidently surprised her. 

Cassinove and Laura both wondered what Lady Lester 
would have to testify in regard to the murder, when they 
know that her ladyship had slept soundly through the whole 
of the tragic scenes of that fatal first of October. It was 
known when she began to speak. 

“ I am the widow of the deceased. I know the prisoner 
at the bar; he filled the situation of tutor of our younger son, 
and resided in our house for nearly twelve months.” 

“Can your ladyship inform the jury what seemed to be the 
state of feeling between the deceased and prisoner?” inquired 
the counsel for the Crown. 

“At first the deceased and the prisoner seemed to entei- 
tain for each other as cordial a friendship as could possibly 
exist between persons of unequal rank and age. Gradually, 
but evidently, that friendship cooled, until, at length, it 
changed to a bitter enmity.” 

“ Will your ladyship tell the court how this enmity ex- 
hibited itself?” 

“ In many daily acts of mutual annoyance ; in many looks, 
words, and deeds of hatred.” 

“Your ladyship will please to be specific, and instance 
some of these stated acts of mutual annoyance,” 

“In the first place. Sir Vincent Lester very much disliked 
the attentions paid by Mr. Cassinove to a young person resid- 
ing in the capacity of governess in aur family. And though Mr. 
Cassinove was well aware of Sir Vincent’s disapprobation 
he not only persisted in those attentions, but augmented 
them ” 

Here a titter ran through the crowd, mingled with mur 
nmrs of “Very natuilH,” “ Quite right,” etc. 

The crier called “ Silence I” and the examination of Lady 
Lester proceeded. 

“ This was one of the ways in which the prisoner annoyed 


878 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


the fie ;eased. Will your ladyship tell us now, in what manner 
the de jeased annoyed the prisoner ?” questioned the counsel 

“By throwing every obstacle he could in the way of Mr. 
Cassinove’s conversation with the governess.” 

“ What motive do you suppose the deceased had for tins 
course of conduct towards the prisoner ?” 

This question was challenged, objected to, and ruled out 

The counsel put it in another form, and inquired : 

“ What was the cause of this hatred between the prisoner 
and the deceased ?” 

Here even the cold, calm Lady Lester reddened, as she 
replied : 

“I can testify with certainty only to the enmity; the 
knowledge of its cause belongs only to Him who seeth the 
secret heart of man.” 

“ But what then does your ladyship suppose to have been 
the cause ?” 

This question was also objected to, and ruled out. And 
after a close cross-examination, that elicited nothing nmre 
than a reiteration of the first testimony. Lady Lester was 
permitted to withdraw. 

Sir Ruthven Lester was now called to the stand, and duly 
sworn. After which he corroborated the testimony of his 
mother, but added nothing new. 

The next witness called was Soper, the valet of the late 
oaronet. He testified that on the evening preceding the mur- 
der, the deceased had come down from the school-room in a 
great passion, saying that Cassinove had deeply offended 
him, and should not remain in the house another twenty-four 
hours ; witness attended deceased to his chamber, and waited 
on him until he MOt into bed, when he said, “If I live until 
morning, I will turn that fellow out of doors.” Witness then 
closed and secured the window-shutters, so that no one from 
ivithout could possibly enter the room, and left^iis master to 
/epose. That was the last time he saw deceased alive. 

Cross-examination elicited no further*tcstimony, and Sopor 
was directed to withdraw. 

While this witness was being examined, Laura had con- 
trived to move nearer to Cassinove, and now sat at the corner 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


379 


of the dock where she might easily converse with the prisoner, 
for she knew what was next coming, and -wished to be beside 
him to comfort him by word and look. 

Watson, the butler, was now called to the stand. Again 
there was a lifting of all heads and craning of all necks to 
get sight of this most important witness, who was mort 
interesting as the first discoverer of the murder. 

Being regularly sworn he said : 

“ My name is John Watson. I have lived as butler in 
the service of the deceased for the last twenty years. I 
know the prisoner at the bar who has been tutor, at Lester 
House for the last twelve months. I had observed for the 
last few weeks the state of enmity between the prisoner and 
the deceased. On the night of the murder, I was sitting up 
late in my office, adjoining the pantry, engaged in making 
out my accounts, when, it might be about two o’clock in the 
morning, I was startled by the cries of ‘ murder ! murder 1 

murder ! murd ’ four times, only the fourth time the 

word seemed strangled in the throat of the ofle that cried, 
and there followed a deep, ominous silence. I threw down 
my pen, and rushed up-stairs, towards my master’s room, 
whence those cries seemed to have proceeded ; I burst open 
the door, and found my master, wounded and dying, yet 
grappling wdth a death-grip the collar of the prisoner, who 
stood over him with a blood-stained, dripping dagger in his 
hand. As soon as my master saw me, he exclaimed feebly : 

“ ‘ Seize him !• seize him ! he has murdered me, the 
villain !’ 

“And by this time the chamber was filled with my fellow- 
servants, who had been roused by the cries of murder, and 
hurried to the spot as quickly as they could spring from their 
beds and throw on their clothes. 

“ I said, ‘ In the name of heaven, what is all this V ” 

“‘He has murdered me — he, he, the wretch !’ exclaimed 
my master, who immediately fell back and expired.” 

“ Did the deceased mention the prisoner by name ?” in 
quired the counsel for the Crown. 

“Not once.” 

“ Did the deceased appear collected and self-possessed 
when making this dying declaration ?” 


380 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ No ; he seemed wild and distracted.” 

This witness was. now subjected to a severe cross-examina- 
tion, wliich failed to shake his very important evidence. 

Tlie other domestics were all examined in turn, and all 
corroborated the testimony of the butler as to the position in 
which the deceased and the prisoner were found on the 
occasion of the discovery of the murder, as well as the testi- 
mony of Sir Ruthveu and Lady Lester in regard to the 
enmity that had existed between the tutor and the late 
bar© net. 

Doctor Clark was then called to the stand and examined 
as to the condition of the bod}’’ when found, the nature of the 
wound, etc. And with the conclusion of his testimony, the 
evidence for the Crown closed. 

And the court adjourned until nine o’clock the next day. 

The crowd immediately dispersed, commenting, as they 
went out, upon the weight of the eviden'ce and the prospects 
of the prisoner. 

“ Not a hope in the world remains for him,” said one. 

“ The clearest case lever knew in my life,” said another. 

And all agreed that the guilt of the prisoner was abun- 
dantly proved ; that the defence would be a mere form ; and 
that his conviction and execution was as certain as any 
future event could possibly be. 

And through all this crowd of unpitying faces and Babel 
of accusing and condemning tongues, passed the prisoner in 
charge of the sheriff, and his beautiful wife leaning, as before, 
on the arm of Doctor Clark. As they walked the short dis- 
tance between the court-house and the prison, Laura found 
herself beside Cassinove, who said, in a low voice — 

“ What a case they have made out against me, dear one ! 
They have even proved enmity between Sir Vincent and my- 
self, which, heaven knows, existed but on his side. And 
tlioy have proved this without your evidence. Alas I dearest, 
you have sacrificed yourself in vain.” ^ - 

“ No, not in vain ; if my affection and presence can 
sustain you through this ordeal or comfort you — afterwards,” 
murmured his devoted wife. 

As the hour for closing the prison had arrived, Laura took 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


381 


leave of him at the gates, and returned to her lodgings. 
And as soon as she had entered her chamber and closed the 
door, she threw herself upon the bed and gav-e way, in floods 
of tears, to the pent-up agony of the whole day. 

Neither food nor drink had passed her lips that day ; body 
us well as mind was utterly exhausted. 

There was none to comfort her ; no kind hand to bring her 
a refreshing cup of tea, to restore fainting nature ; no kind 
voice to whisper a word of hope to revive failing courage. 
She w^is utterly alone in her anguish. Could Rose have 
known this, she would have left her luxurious palace and 
come and brought Laura away from these miserable lodgings, 
or else remained to console her in them. But the young 
duchess had only seen Laura abroad, or at the prison, clothed 
in her decent mourning, and could not guess at the miserable 
p:)verty, want, and loneliness into which her gifted friend 
h id fallen. 

Thus Laura was alone in her anguish ; nor would she 
have had it otherwise, while Cassinove was alone in his 
prison cell. 

She passed the night in paroxysms of grief, alternating with 
fits of prostration and stupor that were rather nature’s swoon- 
ing than healthful sleep. Near morning, after a paroxysm 
more violent than any preceding one, she fell into a stupor 
deeper than usual, so that it was late in the morning when 
she awoke from this last swoon or sleep — from deep uncon- 
sciousness to sudden and piercing realization of all the misery 
of her situation. But the necessity of self-control and self- 
exertion was imminent. She felt that she must go to the 
prison, and, hopeless and comfortless herself, speak words of 
hope and comfort to her husband. 

She arose, but found herself so feeble as to be near falling 
again With a great effort, she bathed her face, smoothed 
her hair, and arranged her disordered dress. And then she 
sank down in her chair. 

Some refreshments were absolutely necessary to sustain na 
ture through the coming hours. After some painful hesita- 
tion, she rang her bell, knowing very well that her landlady, 
who was also maid-of-all-work to her lodgers, would answer it 


S82 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


There are some creatures bearing the human form, yet 
much lower in nature than the lowest animal, that “it were 
base flattery to call them brutes.” 

Of such was Laura’s landlady, with whom she dreaded 
coming in contact, as a refined and sensitive nature must 
dread collision with a thoroughly coarse and vulgar one. 

These later bitter sorrows, that had so crushed Laura’s 
heart, had discrowned her of much of that queenliness of 
spirit and of manner that had once commanded homage from 
all who approached her. Perhaps, also, Mrs. Brown was 
much too obtuse to be impressed by any thing more subtile 
than material agency. Be that as it may, since Laura had 
fallen into arrears for her lodging, she had suffered much from 
the coarse insolence of her landlady, and hence she shivered 
with apprehension when she rang the bell that was to bring 
this animal to her presence. 

The landlady entered — a tall, stout, vulgar woman, with a 
red face, bloated cheeks, and small, watery eyes. She entered 
with a swaggering walk and an insolent air, demanding, 
harshly — 

“ What do you want ?” 

“A cup of coffee, if you please,” answered Laura, with a 
low voice and averted face. 

“You’d better pay for what you has had before you ask for 
more.” 

“I will certainly pay you for all if you will be kind enough 
to bring me the cofiee.” 

“ I’ll not do it until you pays for what you has had.” 

“ I have not a penny in the house ” 

“ Then you’ve no business to be in the house yourself. 
But them as wears diment rings ain’t no call to want money,” 
said the woman, fixing her piggish eyes upon the brilliant 
that the young duchess had given Laura as a wedding-ring. 

At another time Laura, for the sake of the giver, would 
Lave hesitated to part with the gift; but now time pressed, «he 
had great need to take refreshment and proceed at once to the 
prison to comfort Cassinove. So she drew the ring from her 
finger and handed it to the woman, saying — 

“ Here take it, and keep it as security until I pay you, only 
bring me the coffee.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


383 


The promptitude with which Laura offered the ring excited 
the suspicions of the woman, who, like all vulgar natures, 
piqued herself upon being "sharp.’’ 

‘‘No, I’ll not take it; it may be a piece of glass set in 
brass for what I know, and not worth twopence.” 

[^’'or all answer Laura held the ring out, turning it about in 
the morning sunlight until it burned and flashed until the living 
rays of light leaped from its centre. 

Well, then, and it may be a real diment for what I know ; 
but, even so, how did you come by it ? Them as wisits jail- 
birds is. to be suspicioned ; and I never received no stolen 
goods in my life.” 

"Very well, then be good enough to leave the room,” said 
Laura, in a calm, commanding tone, that enforced obedience 
even from that stolid creature. 

Laura then put on her mantle and bonnet, and though very 
feeble, went down-stairs, and walked the short distance to 
Giltspur street, where she remembered to have seen a pawn- 
broker’s shop, kept by one Issachar. The rude speech of the 
landlady had done her this service, it had suggested the means, 
of relieving her present necessities, that would never else 
have presented itself to her mind. At another time she might 
have grieved to part with her ring, and blushed to enter a 
pawnbroker’s shop, but now heavier sorrows and keener 
anxieties absorbed her whole soul. She entered the shop, 
where a little, dark, hook-nosed, gimlet-eyed man stood behind 
Ihe counter. 

" How much will you give me for this ring f” said Laura, 
advancing and laying it upon the counter. 

"Eh I mine shole, vere did you get dish ?” exclaimed old 
Issachar, pouncing down upon the jewel, and glaring upon it 
with ravenous eyes. 

"No matter, so that it is mine, and I have a right to part 
with it I” 

"Do you want to shell it?” asked the pawnbroker, with 
difficulty concealing his eagerness. 

"No, only to pledge it. How much will you advance me 
upon it ?” 

"Eh, mine tear, it ish not wort sho mush either, now J 


38-t 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


looksh at it,” said Issachar, recoveriDg liis composure aud 
craftiness, 

“ Very well ; name the sum that you are willing to advance 
upon it.” 

“ Eh, mine tear shole, monish is very scarsh. I will advance 
five pounds on it.” 

The ring was worth an hundred guineas at least, but Laura 
^ was far too much oppressed with trouble to chaffer with the 

fellow, so she said ; 

“ Give me the money, and a receipt for the ring, so that I 
may redeem it as soon as I can.” 

Issachar immediately handed her the money and a ticket, 
and eagerly took and locked up the ring, which he hoped 
would yet revert to himself. 

Laura left the shop, returned to her lodgings, and rang again 
'or the landlady. That animal sulkily made her appearance. 

How much do I owe you ?” inquired Laura. 

“Two-pun-ten, and I reckon you’ll never owe me less,” said 
the woman, insolently. 

“ Here are three pounds. Bring me the change and my 
coffee immediately.” 

The woman obeyed, and soon set before her lodger a com- 
fortable breakfast. 

Without removing her bonnet, Laura hastily drank a cup 
af coffee, ate a morsel of bread, and then, feeling somewhat 
^ refreshed, put the mask of a cheerful countenance over her 
sorrowful heart, and proceeded to the prison. She reached 
the cell a little before the hour that the prisoner w’as to be 
conveyed to the court. The governor was with him, but re- 
tired as soon as his wife appeared, leaving the unhappy young 
ccuple the solace of a few moments’ private conference. 

“ How did you pass the night ?” inquired Laura, affection- 
ately, sitting down beside him on the cot. 

“Well, dear love, very well,” said Cassinove, assuming a 
more cheerful countenance than his sad heart warranted. “And 
you, Laura?” 

“ I slept until quite late this morning,” she said, evasively, 
smiling in his face. 

“ That is right. To-day, dear love, must decide my fate 
Can my true wife be firm ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


385 


“ Firm as a rock and true as steel I Never doubt me/* 
replied Laura, courageously, although her heart was secretly 
breaking. 

He pressed a kiss upon her brow, and then opened the 
door to admit Doctor Clark and the officers who had come to 
conduct him to ibe court-house. 

Doctor Clark greeted Laura and Cassinove with great 
kindness. And, then, as it was near nine o’clock, the party 
set out for the session-house. The prisoner walked between 
the two officers, and Laura leaned upon the arm of her ven- 
erable friend, as on the preceding day. 

They found the space in front of the court-house thronged 
with people, who were trying in vain to press into the 
building. 

They found the court-room much fuller than on the pre- 
ceding day, crowded, in fact, to suffocation. 

“ As I am to be examined to-day for the defence, my dear, 

I may sit beside you, and take care of you,” said the good old 
doctor, as he supported Laura towards the upper end of the 
court. 

As before, Cassinove was placed in the dock, where he 
stood pale, firm, and calm, above the crowd of faces turned 
up to liim in morbid curiosity or cruel vindictiveness. He 
looked before him towards the bench, and saw that the brow 
of the judge was stern ; towards the jury-box, where the 
faces of the jurors were very grave ; he glanced to the right, ^ 
where the witnesses for the defence seemed sorrowful and 
despondent ; to the left, where those for the prosecution 
appeared confident and vindictive. And then from all these 
blood-thirsty or despairing faces, his eyes turned for rest and 
comfort upon the beautiful, pale brow of his devoted wife, as 
she sat close to the dock, sustained by the proximity of the 
venerable Doctor Clark. 

The crier called silence in the court, and Mr. Fulmer, the 
junior counsel for the prisoner, arose to open the defence. 

This advocate was young, ardent, enthusiastic, eloquent, 
and armed with perfect faith in the innocence of his client, 
and the consequent justice of his cause. 

He began by reviewing the address of the Crown’s counsel, 
24 


386 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


and pulling to pieces with great ingenuity the enormous mass 
of testimony raised against his client. It was all circum- 
stantial evidence at best, he said, a mere mountain of fog, that 
could not stand for a moment before the clear sunlight of his 
client’s irreproachable character. The dying declaration of 
the agonized and distracted man, upon which such great 
stress had been laid, could not be distorted into an accusation 
of his client, since the name of Mr. Cassinove had not been 
m(>intioned. If the dying man clung with a death-grip to the 
prisoner, he clung to him only as his preserver. The deport- 
ment of Mr. Cassinove when discovered at the bedside of 
Sir Vincent Lester was not that of detected guilt; he ex- 
hibited no agitation, except a benevolent anxiety to procure 
medical assistance for the wounded man. Neither could 
there be any adequate motive on the part of Mr. Cassinove 
for the perpetration of so heinous a crime. The enmity said 
to have been observed between the prisoner and the deceased 
was not proved by any overt act on the part of either ; the 
alleged enmity, therefore, existed only in the opinions of those 
who had testified concerning it. And, finally, Mr. Cassinove’s 
whole life, from childhood up to the very hour of his arrest, 
had been distinguished for the love and practice of truth, 
justice, and benevolence, and they formed the most over- 
whelming refutation of the heinous charge that had been 
brought against him. He would undertake to establish by 
unquestionable testimony every point that he here advanced. 
And he hoped and believed that the jury, after hearing this 
testimony, would acquit the prisoner before leaving their 
seats. For in view of Mr. Cassinove’s irreproachable charac- 
ter. the slight foundation of the charge brought against him, 
and the strength of his cause, he would venture to claim for 
his client, not only an honorable acquittal, but a triumphant 
vindication ! 

Merely to show the line of the defence, I have given this 
sketch of the advocate’s opening speech — a skeleton that he 
filled out and clothed with all the wealth of his legal acumen, 
and all the richness of his burning eloquence. 

At the close of his speech, he called to the stand .he Rev. 
Uen-y Watson. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


887 


The venerable pastor advanced, and being* duly sworn, 
testified that he had known Ferdinand Cassinove, the pris- 
oner, from his infancy up to the present moment, and had al- 
ways known him as distinguished for perfect ititegrity, pure 
conscientiousness, and, above all, for a fervent benevolence 
that had often mowed him to acts of great self-sacrifice to 
save others from even trifling sufferings. And here the 
venerable pastor related several instances in which he had 
seen those qualities of conscientiousness and benevolence 
severely tested and brightly illustrated. 

He withdrew from the stand amid murmurs of surprise 
from the spectators, whom his evidence had seriously im- 
pressed in favor of the prisoner. 

Doctor Clark, the next witness, corroborated the testimony 
of his predecessor as to the excellence of the prisoner’s moral 
character, and also to his appearance and manner on the night 
of the murder, which, witness said, were not those of a guilty 
man. 

Many other witnesses corroborated the statement of the 
clergyman and the physician, among whom was Colonel 
Hastings, who gave his testimony with an earnestness and 
even solemnity that made a great impression. 

The young Percy Lester was called to the stand, and again 
every head was lifted, and every neck strained, to get sight 
of the youngest son of the murdered man in the witness-box 
on the part of the prisoner; and murmurs of sympathy 
moved the crowd as they gazed upon the lad standing there 
in his deep mourning, with his earnest young face upturned 
towards the clerk who was administering the oath. 

What the boy had to say was not much, and yet it made a 
very great impression, for he spoke with a fervent, earnest, 
loving faith in the prisoner’s innocence, and his unvarying 
kindness towards every creature, and he gave many instances 
of that kindness. 

When examined on the subject of the enmity alleged to 
have existed between the deceased and the prisoner, the boy 
said : 

“ There was >nly a coolness between my father and Mr. 
Cas.sinove ; but Mr. Cassinove did not hate my father ; he 


888 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


always respected and admired him, and taught me to rever 
ence him.” 

The cross-examination of the lad only brought out this 
testimony with increased force. 

And here closed the examination of witnesses for the de- 
fence. 

The senior counsel for the prisoner arose and addressed 
the jury in a powerful speech, made up a review of the evi- 
dence, strengthened by sound logic, illumined by clear reason, 
and warmed by burning eloquence. 

And at the end of an hour the advocate sat down amid 
murmurs of admiration. 

And here rested the defence. 

There was no rebutting evidence offered. The counsel for 
the crown said that they were not disposed to question the 
previous good character of the prisoner in order to prove him 
capable of committing that crime which it was already abun- 
dantly proved that he had committed. They had nothing to 
do with the prisoner’s past life ; they took him up from the 
moment of his perpetration of the felony that had placed him 
at the bar ; and they would only recall the attention of the 
jury to that indestructible mass of evidence which neither 
the logic of the learned counsel who had just preceded him, 
nor the eloquence of the talented advocate who had opened 
the defence, had been able to move. There stood the con- 
victing fact as firm as ever — the prisoner discovered in the 
very attitude of assassination, with the weapon of secret 
murder in his hand, held arrested in the grasp of the dying 
man, whose very last words accused him as his assassin. 
That was the fact proved by more than a dozen eye-wit- 
nesses ; the fact that could not be explained away by any in- 
genuity of sophistry, and upon that convicting fact the 
prosecution would rest its case. And he resumed his seat. 

Here Laura turned very pale, and dropped her face in her 
hands; but only for an instant; then recovering herself, she 
looked up in time to meet Cassinove’s anxious gaze with a 
smile of encouragement. * 

The judge rose to charge the jury. He summed up the 
evidence on both sides, characterizing that of the prosecution 


IHE BRIDAL EVE. 


889 


as the strangebt testimony kno wn in law, and that of the de- 
fence as an affecting expression of feeling and opinion on the 
part of the witnesses, calculated rather to move the sym- 
pathies than to convince the reason of the jury, whose duty 
it was to be guided by reason rather than sympathy, and to 
bring in their verdict in accordance with facts rather than 
opinions. But after hearing and well weighing the evidence 
on both sides of this case, if a single doubt of the prisoner’s 
guilt disturbed their judgment, he enjoined them, in the name 
of justice and humanity, to give the prisoner the benefit of 
that doubt. 

The judge resumed his seat, and the jury, in charge of the 
deputy-sheriff, retired to another room, to deliberate upon 
their verdict. 

As the door closed upon the last receding figure, a dread 
silence fell upon the crowded court-room. The shadow of 
the scaffold seemed to lower darkly over the scene. A 
stifling atmosphere of mortality seemed to fill the room. 

And the prisoner and his devoted wife ? How bore they 
this hour of breathless, suffocating suspense ? 

Life — Death — in the trembling balance of fate I 

Life — Death — Oh, God I if it should be life ! — what an 
infinite deliverance ! what an overpowering rapture of joy I 

But if it should be death ? 

As the long-drawn agony of this hour grew heavier with 
every slowly-passing minute, Laura became whiter, colder, 
and more oppressed ; her face seemed marble, her hands ice, 
her breath gasping ; she was upon the verge of swooning. 

“ For the love of God, a glass of wine for my wife, 
quickly!” exclaimed Cassinove, leaning over the dock, and 
addressing an officer of the court. 

The man kindly hastened away in search of the required 
restorative, and presently returned, bringing a glass of brandy 
and water — there was no wine to be got. 

Doctor Clark placed the glass at the lips of Laura, and 
forced her to swallow a few drops, after which she gently 
pushed it away, saying : 

“ Thank you, it is over now ; I will not let my courage 
fail again ; no, I will not indeed, Doctor Clark. I will not, 
dear Cassinove.” And she sat up. 


890 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


She had need of all her firmness now, for the sudden lof^ 
murmur and subdued motion of the crowdc'd court-room an- 
nounced some event of supreme interest at hand. 

She looked up, and her heart paused in its pulsations ; her 
brain reeled, and her sight failed, as she perceived the black 
group of the jury solemnly re-entering the court. The scene 
receded from her senses ; the voice of the clerk sounded dis- 
tant and dreamy as he asked the question ; 

“ Gentlenien of the jury, have you agreed upon your ver- 
dict?” 

** We have,” responded the solemn voice of the foreman. 

“ Look upon the prisoner. Prisoner, look upon the jury.” 

Ferdinand Cassinove stood up and confronted the twelve 
men who held his fate in their hands, and fixed his eagle eyea 
firmly upon the face of the foreman. 

The clerk of arraigns spoke : 

“ How say you, gentlemen of the jury, is the prisoner, Fer- 
dinand Cassinove, guilty or not guilty of the felon}^ with which 
he stands charged ?” 

There was an instant’s pause, in which you might have 
heard the beating of the hundred hearts in that hall, and 
then the foreman, in a broken voice, dropped the word of 
doom : 

“Guilty.” 

There was heard a woman’s half-smothered shriek, and then 
the silence fell deeply as before. 

Then the voice of the judge arose : 

“Ferdinand Cassinove, have you aught to urge why the 
sentence of the court should not be pronounced upon you ?” 

Cassinove advanced to the front of the dock, and answered: 

“ Yes, my lord ; it were unjust to one who bears my name, 
as well as to my own conscious integrity, to let that sentence 
pass without protestation. And though what I have to ad- 
vance will not aflfect that sentence in the least degree, or de- 
lay my death for an hour, still, for that lady’s sake as well as 
for my own, I must repeat here, at the close of my trial, what 
I pleaded at its commencement, and say that I am not guilty 
of the death of Sir Vincent Lester, so help me God, at this 
my v^tmost need ! That the judge and the jury have pen 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


391 


formed, conscientiously performed, their duty, in accordance 
with the amazing weight of the circumstantial evidence 
against me, I freely admit ; but that the circumstantial evi- 
dence has misled them into the conviction of a guiltless man, 
I must insist. I am guiltless of the death of Sir Vincent 
licster. I said it at the commencement of my trial ; I say it 
now ; I shall say it in the hour of death, and on the day of 
judgment ! My lord, I have done.” And with a grave in- 
clination of the head, Cassinove resumed his seat. 

A murmur of admiration, doubt, and compassion ran 
through the crowd. But above this arose the voice of the 
crier — 

“ Let there be silence in the court while sentence of death 
is pronounced upon the prisoner.” 

And a silence like that of the grave fell upon the breathless 
assembly. 

The judge then put on that solemn part of the judicial in- 
signia, that badge of doom, the black velvet cap, and rose 
from his seat. The prisoner was also directed to stand up. 
Cassinove once more arose, and advanced to the front of the 
dock. 

“ The judge addressed him — 

‘‘ Ferdinand Cassinove, after a careful and impartial trial, 
you have been convicted by a jury of your peers of the heinous 
crime of wilful murder. It becomes, therefore, my ])ainful 
duty to pronounce upon you the sentence of the law. But 
before passing it, I would admonish you that however you 
may insist upon your guiltlessness, the weight of the evidence 
against you, and the atrocity of the crime with whi(;h you 
have been convicted, leave 3’’ou not the slightest hope of par- 
don in this world. And I implore \'ou, in view of the short 
space that remains, to lose no time in seeking, by repentance 
and confession, that Divine mercy which is never refused to 
the penitent sinner, however darkly guilty. The sentence 
of the court is, that you, Ferdinand Cassinove, be taken from 
hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to 
the place of execution, and be there hanged by the neck until 
you be dead, and ma}^ God in his infinite goodness have merej 
on your soul.” 


892 


T HE BKIDAL EVE. 


And the judge sat down, overcome by his emotions. 

Cassinove bowed to the bench, and tlien turned to see how 
his wife bore this decree of doom. She was standing up, 
pale and still, with her hands clasped, and her eyes raised to 
the face of her husband. The agony of suspense was past 
now, and the calmness of death seemed already to overshadow 
her 

“ The blow has fallen, love ; it is all over I’’ murmured the 
deep-tonep voice of the young man. 

“ Yes, it is over; we must die ! Well, what matter, since 
we are alone in the world, and shall leave none behind to 
mourn our loss I We will die I” 

♦ “ We, dear love 

“Yes, we; for I have neither the power nor the will to 
survive you, Cassinove.” 

“ God give you both, sweet wife, with many years of earthly 
usefulness and happiness, after this restless heart and brain 
of mine shall be calmed in death.” 

^‘Ah, do not pray for it, Cassinove. All that enables me 
to endure this hour is the firm conviction that I shall not 
survive you.” 

The officers, who had considerately held back while this 
little by-scene was going on between the husband and wife, 
now advanced to remove the prisoner. 

At Laura’s urgent entreaty, Cassinove requested that she 
might be permitted to accompany him to the prison, and the 
request was immediately granted. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


393 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE FATE OF THE POISONER. 


Thus evea handed justice 
Commends the poisoned chalice 
To “ bis” own lips . — Shukspeare 


Among the spectators in the court-room, who had awaited 
in the greatest anxiety the result of the trial, was the poor 
little dark-eyed woman, whom we have known as the Widow 
Russel, but who was, as has since been shown, the wife of 
the miscreant, Thugsen. 

She bad remained closely veiled, and carefully concealed 
in an obscure corner of the court-room, whence, unnoticed, 
she bad watched the progress of the trial. When the verdict 
of the jury was rendered, it was her half-smothered shriek 
that broke the breathless silence of the room. 

After the sentence of death was pronounced, and before 
the crowd began to disperse, she crept out, in a sort of hor- 
ror of amazement, and bent her tottering steps towards 
Giltspur street, murmuring, as she went along — 

“ Guilty I Death I Oh, heaven I to suspect what I sus- 
pect ; nay, to know what I know, and to let him die ! To 
let him die — so young, so goo‘d, so guiltless ! To let him 
die, when a word from me would save him ! It would be 
murder ! I should have his death and hers, too, for she 
would not survive him, on my soul ! I, too, should be a 
murderer — should become a murderer by merely living 
with a murderer I Should catch blood-guiltiness as one 
catches the plague, from contagion ! It must not be ! I 
cannot rest as the confidante of crime I The innocent life 
shall not be sacrificed through me ! 

“ But then, the unnatural horror of having to give 
information against — Oh, my God ! — against the husband of 
my youth — the father of my children ! But there is a law 
of righteousness above all the laws of nature, and that I 
must obey I 


394 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ This evening I will tell him all I know, and give him 
the opportunity of acting right 1 Then, if he does not, 1 
must deliver him up to justice ! I must do it 1 It will kill 
me, but I must do it !” 

Those who saw her reeling along the street, and muttering 
to herself, thought her drunk or mad. 

At length, half conscious of the suspicious glances turned 
towards her, the distracted woman stopped an empty 
hackney coach that was passing by, and entered it, telling 
the driver to take her to Berwick street. It was at some 
distance from the Old Bailey, in the densest, poorest, and 
most crowded portion of London. 

She pulled the check-string, and stopped the carriage at 
the entrance of the street. 

She alighted, paid the fare, dismissed the carriage, and 
proceeded on foot up the narrow and over-crowded street, 
until she paused before a tall, three-storied, red buck house 
in rather better preservation than those in its immediate 
neighborhood. She entered this house with a pass key, care- 
fully locked the door, and turned to another door on the right 
of the front passage, that admitted her into a suite of three 
rooms ; the front room being the bed-chamber, the middle 
room the parlor, and the back room the kitchen. 

She laid off her bonnet and shawl in the front chamber, 
went into the parlor, and set the table for dinner, and then 
proceeded to the kitchen to prepare the meal, for there seemed 
to be neither servant nor child on those premises. This small, 
solitary woman, appeared to be the only denizen of this great, 
lonely house. Yet this was really not so ; for when an hour 
had passed, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock 
of the street-door, followed by the entrance of a man,.whc 
fastened the door after himself, and advanced along the pas 
sage into the parlor, where the little woman stood cutting 
bread at the table. 

“Well, Ruth, is dinner ready?” inquired the man, throw- 
ing his hat upon a side table, and sinking into an arm-chair. 

“ No, Robert ; the soup will need to simmer half an hour 
longer.” 

“ You’ve been out.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


395 


*'Yes, Robert; IVe been at the Old Bailey.” 

“And what the demon had you to do at the Old Bailey ?” 
asked the man, losing somewhat of his habitual good teinpei 
and courtesy. 

“ I have been seeing a guiltless man tried for wilful mur- 
der; I have been hearing an innocent man condemned to die 
the death of a murderer !” said Ruth, solemnly. 

“ The deuce I The jury were quick about their work ! Is 
he sentenced ?” 

“He is sentenced to die for a crime of which he is perfectly 
innocent.” 

“ Innocent ! innocent ! what the foul fiend do you mean 
by harping upon that word ? How the demon do you know 
that he is innocent?” inquired Thugsen, angrily. 

“By knowing who is guilty,” replied Ruth. 

“ How ? What the d ! Oh, the woman has lost her 

wits !” exclaimed Thugsen, with a light laugh. 

“ No, Robert Thugsen, I have not lost my wits ! Would 
to heaven that I had ! I know what I am saying ! I know 
that Cassinove is innocent of the crime for which he is con- 
demned to die, by knowing too well who is guilty,” said Ruth, 
solemnly. 

“Who the demon, then, is guilty? Speak, woman — speak 
at once !” exclaimed Thugsen, desperately, starting up, and 
confronting her. 

She arose from her seat, and stood before him as pale as 
death, firm as fate ; and placing her hand upon his chest, and 
looking him full in the face, she said — 

“Robert Thugsen, ‘thou art the man!’” 

He started back, appalled, as though the angel of destruc- 
tion had suddenly risen before him. 

He gazed upon the accusing spirit, faltering forth the 
words — 

“ How ? What ? how the demon could you know that ?” 
Then suddenly recovering his self-possession, and with it his 
consummate hypocrisy, he burst into a loud laugh. He threw 
himself into a chair, exclaiming — 

“Oh, yon are mad ! mad as a March hare ! fou shall have 
a strait-jacket and a shower-bath.” 


896 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ Do not mock my words, or your own position,” she said, 
sinking again into her seat. But as he continued laughing 
and rubbing his hands as in the highest enjoyment of an ex- 
cellent jest, she resumed, gravely — 

Yes, I feel that you have a right to laugh me to scorn, a 
reason to despise me thoroughly, for you know that wherevei 
you have been concerned, I have been culpably weak, so weak, 
indeed, as to suffer myself to be drawn into a labyrinth of 
deepest guilt, not, indeed, as an active agent, for that never 
could have been, but as an accessory.” 

“ What can the fool mean ?” interrupted Thugsen. 

“ I mean this. After the unnatural and nameless crime that 
shocked the whole civilized world from its propriety ; that 
made you the outlaw of nature as well as of society ; from 
the charge of which you fled the world for years, giving your- 
self out as dead ; after all this I had the folly to receive you 
back again ; yes, though at first I fled from you, as you had 
fled from your kind ; though I hid my children from you, as 
I would have hid them from a lion or a leper ; though fear, 
and horror, and loathing, struggled desperately with the old 
affection, yet when you sought me I received you back again, 
and in doing so plunged my soul in the deepest guilt, by load- 
ing it with all your subsequent crimes.” 

“ Grimes, woman !” exclaimed Thugsen, sternly. 

“ Yes, crimes! You need not glare at me with that fero- 
cious glance. I am not frightened ; I am too far gone in 
wretchedness for that. The stings of conscience that goad me 
to speak as I do, and to act as I must, hurt me more than all 
you could say or do,” said Ruth, with the firmness of despair. 

“ What crimes are there that you dare to impute to me ?” 
demanded Thugsen, in the low, deep, stern tones of concen» 
trated and suppressed passion. 

“ The assassination of Sir Yincent Lester, the cruel decep- 
tion of the young Duchess of Beresleigh, the deadly peril of 
the guiltless Ferdinand Cassinove, about to die for your deed, 
and'the awful sorrow of his innocent youtig wife. Heavily 
heavily presses this guilt upon my soul ; and, Robert Thugsen 
I must cast it off. Justice must be done I the innocent shall 
be clean'd !” said Ruth, solemnly. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


397 


While she spoke, his aspect gradually changed. With much 
effort he restrained his emotions, and assumed a calmness he 
was far from feeling. W hen she had ceased to speak, he said : 

•‘You have charged me with these crimes. What reason 
cr authority have you for doing so 

“Your own words.” 

“ My own words ?” 

“Your own words.” 

“ What the fiend do you mean by that ?” 

“ Robert Thugsen, the conscience that sleeps throughout the 
day awakes at night. When all your other senses are wrapped 
in forgetfulness, that sense of guilt remembers and raves.” 

“ In other words, after a heavy supper, I have bad dreams, 
and mutter incoherent words in my sleep.” 

“Yes, you talk in your sleep.” 

“And upon the ramblings of an uneasy dream you would 
found a charge of guilt. Have you never dreamed of doing 
things that you really never could do — flying, for instance ?” 
he inquired, disdainfully. 

“Robert, your midnight ravings are not like the innocent 
fantasies of other dreamers. Nor is it only a vague ‘shadow 
of guilt and scent of blood’ that shrouds your nightly slumbers. 
No, each night you rehearse, again and again, all the horrors 
of that midnight murder !” cried Ruth, shuddering. 

Thugsen could control the tones of his voice — but not the 
currents of his blood ; but the deepening twilight of that 
sombre room concealed the unearthly pallor of his face, or 
the demoniac glare of his eyes, as he inquired, in a tone of 
assumed calmness — 

“ So I dream every night that it was I who murdered Sir 
Vincent Lester ? And my dreams seem to be quite dramatic, 
worth}^ even of your accurate remembrance. Now / always 
forget my dreams, so that I should like to hear you relate this 
very remarkable one.” 

“ It is too horrible !” 

“ What, the dream ?” 

“ To hear you trifle so with such tremendous guilt I” 

“ It was but a dream, you know !” 

“Ah I” she exclaimed, shuddering. 


^98 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ You don’t believe me ?” 

No !” 

“ Tut I Come, draw up the curtain ! let us see what this 
very dramatic dream is,” he said, disdainfully. 

“ Oh I do not thus play with your crimes and their conse- 
quences. You pretend not to credit me, and you treat my 
words lightly I but you shall soon know better. You shall 
hear from my lips the dream in which each night you re-enact: 
the tragedy at Lester House, revealing not only your acts, but 
your passions and emotions — your hatreds, fears, hopes, and 
purposes — speaking out what then you only thought and 
felt !” 

“ Come, this is the prologue I let us have the play,” said 
Thugsen, ironically. 

“ Listen, then, Robert Thugsen,” continued Ruth, in the 
tone and manner of one speaking under a powerful inward 
impulse. “Each night, in dreams, again you lurk around 
Lester House, hiding in the deepest shadows, and from your 
lair, like some wild beast crouching to spring upon its prey, 
you watch the watch until it has passed ; then swiftly and 
silently you dart down the basement stairs ; you examine alL 
the doors and windows, and find one window carelessly left 
unfastened ; you raise it and creep into the kitchen, closing it 
after you ; you pause, watching and listening for the slightest 
sound or movement in that dark, still house ; but hearing 
nothing, and believing all the household to be buried in re- 
pose, you draw from your pocket a bunch of well-filed skele- 
ton keys, and creep up the stairs and along the passages ; a 
single bolt or bar shot into its place would have arrested your 
progress, and saved you from crime and him from death, and 
you wonder as you steal along on your fatal errand that 
neither bolt nor bar obstructs your way ; you do not know 
that the butler, w^hose last duty it is to secure the house, has 
not yet retired to bed, but is shut up in his office, casting up 
his accounts ; oh, fatal carelessness ! And so silently and 
breathlessly you glide like a serpent from landing to landing, 
until you reach the fatal chamber-door. 

“You pause again, and standing breathless, there you 
watch and listen ; all is dark and still without and within. 
You insert the key, silently turn the lock, and enter. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


399 


“ How still the room ! the only sound the tickinp^ of the 
jrmolu clock upon the mantel-piece. By the dim li<>:ht of the 
taper burning on the hearth, you see the close]3’'-drawn cur- 
tains of your victim’s bed. You creep towards it, and stand- 
ing beside it, bend your head and listen ; by the regular 
breathing of the sleeper you know that he is sound asleep ; 
you push aside the curtain and look upon his face ; it is a 
face full of care and sorrow even in its repose ; he is lying 
on his right side, fronting you ; his left arm is thrown up 
over his head ; his motion has slightly disordered the bed- 
clothes, so that his left side is entirely exposed ; there is 
nothing to shield his heart from your dagger’s point ; if tho 
fiend had prepared the victim for the sacrifice, he could not 
have been readier for your hand. 

“ One blow and all will be over ! Bat one or all will be 
lost ! You clutch your dagger with a firmer grasp, and bend 
until you can hear the monotonous beating of that heart you 
mean to stop forever ! You direct your dagger's point — one 
firm plunge and the deed of death is done ! 

“ But the blow that kills first awakens ! The wounded 
man bounds up ! glares upon 3^011 with his dying and affrighted 
eyes — shrieks forth that alarm of ‘ murder,’ that arouses the 
household I You fly ! with the swiftness and silentness of 
the serpent you slip through the halls, glide down the 
stairs, and so effect your escape. Satan favors you, for as 
70U emerge again from the kitchen window, the watch has 
just passed ; they have not heard that smothered cry of mur- 
ier ; nor through the thick walls and closed shutters can 
they hear the hurrying footsteps of the roused household as 
it pours on towards the chamber of murder ! 

“ You escape ; you think your deed of darkness hid forever 
from the world ; but, Robert Thugsen, I repeat, each night, 
when sleep has closed your eyes and sealed your senses, 
conscience awakes and re-enacts every minute scene of that 
tragedy, speaking out, what then you only thought and felt, 
as well as what you saw and did !” concluded Ruth, shud- 
dering. 

Could she have seen his face as she finished her narrative, 
' she bad not trusted her own life in his bands for another 


400 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


hour ; but the gathering shadows of night concealed it from 
her; and his tones were light and bantering, as he said — 

“ A singular psychological phenomenon ! What else ? 
That cannot be all upon which you found your opinion of my. 
guilt ?” 

“ It is enough'; yet it is not all.” 

What more 
The dagger !” 

The dagger ?” 

“ Yes, Robert Thugsen, the dagger that was found in Mr. 
Cassinove’s hand, but with which you had done the murder I” 

“ What the fiend are you driving at now ? What about 
the dagger ? come, what about it ?” 

It was produced to-day in court; I recognized it; it was 
rours !” 

“Upon my word, you are trying to get up quite a case 
against me. Any thing moreV^ 

“ Alas, yes !” 

“ Out with it, then ! Let us have the whole at once. 

Never make two bites at a cherry.’ You, I think, have 
made ten at this* and have not finished it yet. Come, what 
more ?” 

“ The sheath.” 

“Oh, ha,-ha, ha! this woman will certainly be the death 
of me ! ha, ha, ha 1 First it was the dagger, now it is the 
eheath ! Ha, ha, ha ! Well, what about the sheath ?” 

“ The night upon which you came to me at the cottage at 
Chelsea, you threw off your coat upon the bed-room floor. 
I took jt up to hang it ” 

“ As you would like to hang its owner,” interposed Thug- 
Ben, with a sardonic laugh. 

“ As I raised it up, something fell from the pocket ; I 
stooped to see what it was, and picked up the empty sheath 
of your antique Toledo poniard ; it was crusted thickly with 
dried blood ” 

“Why the demon did you not speak of it at the time, 
then ?” interrupted Thugsen. 

“ Horror transfixed me. When 1 recovered the use of my 
faculties, fear for you sealed my lips.” 

“ Fear for me ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


401 


•‘Yes, fear for you ! Laura Elmer, as T told you, was my 
guest that night. Her suspicions were already aroused against 
you ; she might have overheard any words that passed be- 
tween us. So I hid away the tell-tale sheath, and should 
never have spoken of it again had not young Cassinove been 
convicted. Oh I Robert, the guiltless must not die for the 
guilty.” 

“ Hush 1” exclaimed Thugsen, with difficulty coniruiiiijg 
his emotions. “ From the accident of an empty dagger’s 
sheath and a disturbed dream, you think that you have made 
out a very strong case against me ; it is nonsense ; but let 
that pass for the present. You have also charged me with 
the deception of the young Duchess of Beresleigh ; now, what 
have I to do with the Duchess of Beresleigh, or the Duchess 
of Beresleigh with me ?” 

“You should have nothing to do with her, more than a 
spirit of darkness has to do with an angel of light ; and yet 
you have twice cruelly deceived her.” 

“Explain yourself, Ruth; by my soul, I do not understand 
you.” 

“ Thugsen, you have buried me here, in the obscurest part 
of London. I am as completely isolated in this crowded 
quarter of the town as though I were in the midst of the 
deserts of Asia or the forests of America. I speak to no per- 
son — I see no paper — and you think that I am therefore 
ignorant of what goes on in the great world ; and so I am, to 
a groat extent. But this morning a piece of an old news- 
paper fell into my hands. It came around a parcel that I had 
brought from the draper’s. Your name attracted me to a 
paragraph, and there I read a short account of the charge 
brought against the young Duchess of Beresleigh.” 

She paused, and held her hand to her side, as though in 
pain. 

“ GTo on,” said Thugsen. 

“ I discovered by that account that you had cruelly de- 
ceived her twice. First, when she was a young girl, and 
you were hiding in her fo.ster-mother’s house, you passed 
yourself off for a single man, and attempted to consimmate 
a manmvge with her, a erinie, the completion cf wh ch was 
25 


402 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


prevented by the timely arrival of the constables in search 
of you. And now, when years have passed, and she is the 
lawful wife of one of England’s proudest peers, you, know- 
ing that you have not the smallest shadow of a claim upon 
her notice, dare to demand her as your wife, and threaten 
her with a criminal prosecution if, she repulses you. Of 
course you are aware that that high-born lady can know 
n;)thing of the poor, obscure woman, who owns the posi- 
tion into which you would force her, nor could you suppose 
that any accident would reveal the wrongs of the Duchess of 
Be resleigh to me.” 

Thugsen started, and walked once or twice up and down 
the floor ; then pausing before her, and speaking with as 
much calmness as he could assume, he said — 

“ To whom have you gossipped of these matters 

“To no one on earth.” 

“So help you Heaven?” 

“So help me Heaven, in my dying hour.” 

“It is well ; I believe you,” said Thugsen, taking nis seat 
near her, and continuing — “ You seem to have taken the 
demon into your council, else I do not see how you ever 
contrived to amass such an amount of evidence against an in- 
nocent man, and that man your own husband. And now, 
what do you mean to do with it ?” 

“Nothing, Robert, until you have fled the country.” 

“And if I do not choose to fly from a false charge ?” 

“ It will not be a false charge.” 

“ But if I do not choose to fly ?” 

“ Then your blood be upon your own head ; for whether 
jou fly or not, Robert Thugsen, I must do my duty. It will 
break my heart, but I must do it.” 

“ What duty ? How will you do it ?” inquired the man, in 
a low, stifled voice. 

“Listen. This is Thursday. Cassinove is ordered for 
execution on Monday. On Monday, also, the trial of the 
Duchess of Beresleigh comes on. I will give you until to- 
morrow evening to make your escape. You will have plenty 
of time to reach Dover, and take the boat for Calais. To- 
morrow evening I will place all the facts with which I am 
acQuainted in the hands of the police.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


403 


^‘Haf ha! ha! Why, even if the evidence were worth 
any thing, it could not be taken from you. You are my 
wife.” 

“ I know, and my evidence against you could not be 
received in court, but I could give what information I possess 
to the police, and let them follow it up as they please. 1 
muat do this ; it will kill or craze me, but I must.” 

“And this is your final resolution ?” 

“It is; oh, Robert, fly and save yourself! I have still 
a little money left ; you can take it all.” 

“ Come, I have had no dinner to-day, light the lamps and 
see to the soup.” 

With a deep sigh at his apparent insensibility, Ruth 
lighted a lamp and sat it upon the table, and then went out 
to attend to the dinner. 

Thugsen made a turn or two around the room, muttering 
to himself — 

“ She knows too much; she knows too much ; her own lips 
have spoken her own doom ; it can be delayed no longer. 
Yet, poor Ruth ! but she is so very wretched, that it would 
be a mercy to put her out of her misery, by some quick and 
easy process, especially as it must be done if I am to have 
Rose restored to me ; yet I would have spared her as long 
as possible ; spared her forever, if I could have smuggled 
her off somewhere. Allans, a wilful woman must have her 
way ; it is her fault, and not mine.” 

Here he drew from his pocket a very small vial filled with 
a grayish-white powder, and muttering — 

“I have had this quietus about me for the last ten days, 
without having the courage to administer it to the only one 
on earth that loves me. But now that very one, besides 
being the greatest obstacle to my worldly advancement, is, 
also, the most dangerous enemy to my safety. Her life or 
mine must fall. Well, self-preservation is the first law of 
nature. It will soon be over, she will not suffer much, and 

then — why, then I shall be at peace ” He suddenly 

ceased muttering, and closed his hand upon the little vial an 
he heard the approaching footsteps of his doomed wife. 

Ruth came in, bearing in each land a basin of soup. She 


^04 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Bat onu (io\'?fa beside her own plate at the head of the table, 
and tnc oinrr beside his, at the foot. Then she returned to 
the kite neii for something- else. 

As soon -IS she had left the room, Thugsen went to the 
table ana p mred the contents of the little vial into her basin 
of soup, ^aw the powder dissolve, and then immediately 
went into vne adjoining bed-room to destroy the vial. He 
looked around, and seeing a hole in the plastering, dropped 
it through, where it fell into some inaccessible depth in 
the wall. 

Meanwhile, he heard Ruth moving about the dining-room, 
and arranging the dishes upon the table. He paused a 
moment to compose himself, and then returned. 

“•Vour dinner is quite ready, Robert,” said Ruth, sitting 
down at the table. 

He took his seat and commenced eating his soup. Pres- 
ently he looked up at Ruth. 

Ruth was looking down upon hers, and delicately skim- 
ming it, and dropping the scum into a waste plate. 

“ What is that ?” he inquired, uneasily. 

“ Only a little dust of soot fallen upon my soup,” she replied, 
beginning to eat. 

He was re-assured. Soot was black ; the powder he had 
poured into the soup was white, and besides he had seen it 
dissolve. He watched her eating. Poor creature I notwith- 
standing her troubles, she ate rather eagerly, for she was faint 
and hungry from long fasting. 

“ She enjoys her last meal without a thought that she par- 
takes of it in her last hour. Well, after all, how much easier 
her death will be, than if she should live to die what is called 
a natural death — a long, painful illness, slowly wearing out her 
life. It will soon be over ; I hope, even in that little time, she 
will not suffer much,” thought Thugsen, as he watched her. 

“ You do not eat your soup ; there is no soot fallen into 
yours?” inquired Ruth. 

“ No, there is none in mine'^ replied Thugsen, with a hidden 
significance, as he fell to and rapidly finished his soup. 

Ruth removed the empty basins, and began to carve the 
roasted fowl that formed the next course. Thugsen watched 
iier fc r some sign of approaching illness. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


405 


There was none as yet. Hath finished carving, and set his 
favorite pieces before him. 

“ Are you not going to take any ?” inquired Thugsen. 

“ No ; the soup was quite enough for me ; I felt faint and 
hungry when I sat down, but my appetite has gone off with 
the soup.’’ 

“ You are not well,” said Thugsen. 

“ I am as well as I can be, with the anxiety that oppresses 
my mind, Robert.” 

“Ah-! you are still resolved to inform the police of what 
you suspect to-morrow ?” 

“ Alas ! yes, Robert I but not until you escape.” 

“I think you will not,” said Thugsen, laughing defiantly; 
but in the midst of that laugh, his face turned pale, and a 
shiver passed over his frame. 

“ What is the matter ?” said Ruth. 

“A sudden qualm ; you upset me with your diabolical non- 
sense : it is over now — bring in the pudding.” 

Ruth cleared the table, and went out into the kitchen to 
fetch the pudding. When she returned she found Thugson 
white and convulsed in his chair. She sat down the dish, and 
ran to him, exclaiming: 

“ Robert ! Robert ! what is the matter ?” 

“ 111, ill, ill to death 1” gasped the sufferer, while a cold 
sweat bathed his pallid forehead. 

Ruth poured out a glass of brandy, and held it to his lips. 

“No I water 1 water I my throat is burning up !” whispered 
Thugsen, hoarsely. 

Ruth hastily poured out a glass of water, and held it to 
him. 

He drank it eagerly, swallowing with difficulty. It seemed 
to revive him for an instant ; he sat up, wiped his brow, stared 
at Ruth with that confusion of mind that extreme pain and 
exhaustion produces, and exclaimed : 

“ Woman 1 what is the meaning of this ? You are not ill i” 

“ No, Robert, only anxious.” 

“ But I am 1 How is that ?” 

“ I do not know, Robert. You talk, and act, and look so 
Btrangely. Come into your room and lie down, and perhaps 


406 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


you will be better,” said Ruth, gently taking his arm to assist 
him. 

But a third and more violent fit of pain and shivering 
seized the man ; his features were blackened and distorted, 
his limbs drawn up and convulsed. 

Ruth was dreadfully frightened ; she supported his head, 
and wiped the icy sweat from his brow. As soon as the fit 
passed, and he regained the power of utterance, he glared at 
Ruth, and shrieked ; 

“ You have poisoned me ! you have poisoned me I Mur- 
deress, you shall swing for it !” 

“ I — I — Robert ? I poison you ? But you don’t know what 
you are saying — you are so ill. Come, let me help you, to bed, 
and I will run for the apothecary over the way,” exclaimed 
the terrified wife. 

“ Traitress I murderess I you have poisoned me, and you 
know it 1” 

“ Oh, Robert 1” 

^‘Answer me, woman I what did you do to the soup while 
I was in the bedroom ?” 

“ Nothing, on my soul and honor.” 

“Nothing? Think — answer, on your life, as you would 
answer on the last day! what did you do to the soup ?” 

“ Nothing, as I hope for salvation 1 I changed the basins, 
but I never did any thing to the soup.” 

“ You changed the basins !” cried Thugsen, in horror. 

“ Yes ; when I came in I noticed, for the first time, that a 
little soot had fallen into yours, and knowing you to be very 
dainty with your eating, I changed the basins — giving you 
mine, and taking yours. You saw me afterwards, at dinner, 
taking the soot off.” 

While she spoke, he sat listening, with a face blanched by 
bodily pain, horror, and despair. 

Ruth gazed at him in consternation, exclaiming : 

“There was no ill in what I did, Robert, was there? I 
did it for your sake. Oh, Robert, what is the meaning of all 
this ?” 

“ You have poisoned me ! that is it — poi ” 

His words, arrested by a spasm, were followed by convul- 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 407 

sions so violent, that he fell from the chair, and writhed upon 
the floor. 

Ruth dared delay no longer. She rushed from the house, 
and ran across the wa}^, into the apothecary’s shop, exclaim- 
ing: 

Oh, Mr. Jones, for heaven’s sake, come immediately! I 
do fear my husband is dying in a fit !” 

Your husband ? Who is he ? Has he been drinking ?” 
inquired the druggist, 

“ No, no ; he fears it is poison ! but it cannot be that, and 
i do not know what it is ! Oh, do, pray sir, be quick 1 It 
IS just over the way,” cried Ruth, distractedly. 

Mr. Jones took his hat, and immediately attended Ruth. 

They found Thugsen extended on the floor, bathed in a cold 
sweat, and nearly speechless through exhaustion. 

Mr. Jones knelt down by his side, and began to examine 
his condition, while Ruth, in an agitated manner, recounted 
the first symptoms of his attack. 

It seems a case of poisoning by strychnine, madam,” said 
the chemist, rising. 

“ Yes, yes, it was in the soup ; she prepared it,” gasped 
Thugsen, with difficulty. 

“ I will return again immediately,” said the chemist, leav- 
ing the room and hurrying over to his shop, whence he 
despatched his shop-boy to fetch a policeman. Then calling 
his assistant to attend him, he returned to the house, bringing 
with him the most powerful known antidote to strychnine. 

With the help of his young man, he undressed Thugsen 
and put him to bed, when the convulsions returned with ac- 
celerated violence. As soon as these had left, and he was 
; able to swallow, the druggist administered the antidotes, 
which procured the patient a short respite from acute suffer- 
ing. 

Meanwhile the shop-boy arrived with the policeman. 

“ Take that woman in charge, and see that she does not 
make her escape. I suspect her of having poisoned her 
husband !” said Mr. Jones to the officer. 

“ Me ! me !” cried Ruth, in dismay. 

** He charges you with much apparent reason, madam ! 


408 


THE BRIDAL EVB. 


You alone prepared the dinner; he was taken ill after eating 
it, and before leaving the table. Ills illness is the effect of 
strychnine. Yon will, therefore, see the propriety of your 
being kept in restraint until the affair can be investigated,” 
said Jones. 

“ But I am innocent ; indeed, I am, sir. If he has taken - 
strychnine, I cannot imagine how it could have got into the 
soup, unless — Oh! my Lord!"’' exclaimed Ruth, sinking into 
her chair, and covering her face with her hands, as a suspicion 
of the truth, for the first time, glanced into her mind. 

“ Officer, do your duty,” said the chemist, coldly. 

The policeman advanced towards Ruth. 

She held up her hands deprecatingly, saying — 

“ Oh, do not remove me from this room I I am innocent. 
He is my husband ; let me stay to watch him. I will not 
run away; indeed I will not.” 

“If you please, sir, I can take the woman into custody, 
and keep her in this room all the same,” urged the policeman. 

“Very well; see that she does not elude you and make 
her escape,” said Jones. 

And the policeman told Ruth that she was his prisoner, 
and must not leave the room, and then he took up his 
position at the door. 

“ He seems easier. Don’t you think he may get over it, 
sir ?” said Ruth, wringing her hands. 

“ Impossible to tell, ma’am. It will be a severe struggle 
between the powers of life and death. The very antidotes 
I am obliged to administer are terribly exhausting,” said the 
cautious chemist. 

As if to prove his words true, Thugsen was again seized 
with frightful convulsions. His face was black, and his frame 
horribly distorted. 

“ Oh, heaven, how dreadful ! Had you not better send 
for more advice ?” pleaded Ruth, weeping, and wringing 
her hands. 

“ I shall, if this continues, to save myself from the burden 
of a sole responsibility ; but it is just as well to tell you 
that no one can do more for him than I am doing now,” said 
Mr. Jones, preparing another dose. It was administered, and 
the patient again sunk into the quietude of exhaustion. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


409 


The night was now far advanced. By the orders of Mr. 
Jones, who took upon himself the direction of affairs, the 
house was closed up. The chemist’s assistant and the shop- 
boy sat nodding in the adjoining parlor, to be ready in case 
they were wanted. The policeman leaned against the frame 
of the communicating door, and dozed upon his watch. Mr. 
Jones and poor Ruth Sat, 'he '^ne on the right, and the other 
on the left of the bed. 

The quiet of the house was presently interrupted by the 
wild tossing and groaning of the patient, who presently fell into 
the most frightful convulsions, turning blaqk in the face, 
foaming at the mouth, throwing his body into the most horri- 
ble contortions, sometimes in his fierce agony nearly throw- 
ing himself from the bed, and ever, as the momentary 
relaxation of the nervous tension permitted him to speak, 
breaking into the fiercest accusations against Ruth, or the 
most abject entreaties for mercy or for life. 

“ Oh, Jones, for the love of heaven, do what you can to 
save me. 1 am not fit to die. Ah, murderess, you shall pay 
for this I Oh, heaven, what tortures ! Ah, wretch, this is 
your doings, and you shall not escape !” 

Thus he revealed the agony of his body, and the anguish 
and terror of his soul, until the returning stricture of his 
throat for a time strangled out both speech and breath. 

The poor wife and the apothecary both did all they could 
to relieve and soothe the suffering man. But these last con- 
vulsions were so much more violent and long-continued than 
any which had preceded them, and where followed by a fit 
of such deep prostration, that Mr. Jones could no longer 
hesitate to call in additional advice. He went into the 
adjoining parlor, and woke up his assistant, saying : 

“ You must go immediately and bring a physician — Dr. 
Clark, if possible. And you must also bring a magistrate. 
1 fear very much that we shall have to get the dying deposi- 
tion of this unfortunate man.” 

Young Benson quickly aroused himself, and departed on 
his errand. 

Day was dawning as he left the house. 

Boor Ruth, forgetting that she was a prisoner, got up to 


410 


THE BRIDAL EYE. 


open the windows and kindle the kitchen-fire to prepare fof 
breakfast, but the policeman stopped her at the door. And 
when she explained the nature of her errand, the chemist 
told her that he would send his shop-boy to the n(sxt pastry- 
cook’s, and have breakfast brought for the watchers. 

And Ruth returned to her seat on the right of the bed, 
where she quietly remained for perhaps an hour, at the end 
of which time the whole party were disturbed by a loud 
knocking at the street-door. 

Mr. Jones answered the knock, and admitted a magistrate, 
who said that he had come, in answer to a message left for 
him an hour ago. 

Mr. Jones conducted Mr. Humphreys, the magistrate, into 
the parlor, and having seen him seated, related the facts of 
this poisoning as far as they had come to his knowledge. 

“The suffering man is now reposing, and I think he had 
better not be disturbed just now. The suspected woman is 
also in his room, but in charge of a policeman.” 

“ Send the woman in here. I would like to question her,” 
said the magistrate. 

Ruth came in at the summons and gave exactly the same 
account of her husband’s attack of Illness that she had given 
to the apothecary 

“ How long has she been in your custody ?” inquired the 
magistrate of the policeman. 

“ Since last night, sir.” 

“ Then, if there is a secure room in this house, she had 
better be confined in it.” 

Mr. Jones undertook the survey of the upper stories of the 
house, and reported a comfortable and secure bed -room on 
the second-floor front. 

And to this room poor Ruth was conducted and there coii- 
nned. 

Meanwhile the physician, Doctor Scott, arrived, and was 
shown into the chamber of death. 

The patient was lying extended, in a state of deep prostra- 
tion, with the cold sweat beaded upon his brow. 

Doctor Scott looked into his face, felt his pulse, sighed, and, 
in answer to the eager, low-toned questions of the bystanders, 
said • 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


411 


“ He seems to be sinking; fast.” 

Then the doctor wrote a ])rescription, and despatched the 
young chemist’s assistant over to the shop to make it up. 
When this was brought and administered, the sufferer seemed 
to be temporarily revived. 

“ How are you, sir V’ said the magistrate, approaching the 
bedside. 

“ I do not know I Oh, doctor 1 doctor ! am I dying ?” ex- 
claimed Thugsen, turning his eyes, wild with excitement, upon 
the physician. 

“ Oh, no I certainly not ; far from it,” replied Doctor Scott, 
telling the professional white lie. 

“ Do you feel equal to giving any account of this attack of 
illness ?” inquired the magistrate. 

“ Doctor, am I in any danger of death?” said Thugsen, 
turning again to the physician. 

“By no means, my good friend,” said the doctor. 

“ Can you give us any account of your illness ?” persisted 
the magistrate. 

“Yes; my wife and I had a quarrel. She prepared the 
soup ; I ate of it, and immediately sickened. She, poor, 
erring creature, where is she now ?” 

“ Confined in a room up-stairs.” 

“Keep her there, lest she do more mischief,” said Thugsen, 
who, hoping for his own life, felt anxious that Ruth should 
be kept in confinement, lest she should put in execution her 
resolve to inform against himself. 

“Are you willing to make oath to all you have said ?” in- 
quired the magistrate. 

“Yes, for it is the truth,” answered Thugsen, who soon 
after fell into horrible convulsions, that lasted fifteen minutes, 
and left him lying extended without sense or motion. 

“I warn you. Doctor Scott, that if you think this man in 
extremis, you should inform him of his condition, that he may 
know it when called upon to make his deposition,” said the 
magistrate. 

“ Sir, when the patient is in extremis^ I will tell him so ; 
until then, and while there is the slightest possibility of sav- 
ing life, it is my duty to encourage him to the utmost,” re- 


412 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


plied the physician, who was now taxing all his medical skill 
for the help of the sufferer. 

Breakfast for the watchers now arrived from the pastry- 
cook’s, and interrupted farther conversation. A cup of coffee, 
a muffin and an egg, was sent up to Ruth. The policeman 
took them in. 

“ How is Captain Thugsen now inquired Ruth, as he 
entered the room. 

“ I am forbidden to hold any conversation with you, mum,” 
replied the policeman, setting down the tray, and leaving the 
room. 

And Ruth was abandoned to solitude and intolerable sus- 
pense. Troubles seemed gathering thicker and thicker over 
her head. Her sorrows seemed more than any human crea- 
ture could bear. She fully understood now, how it was that 
her husband had taken the poison, which he must have pre- 
pared for herself; and awful gratitude to God for her almost 
miraculous deliverance from the snare, struggled in her heart, 
with grief for the man that she still loved, despite his crimes 
and cold-blooded villany, and fear for the consequence to 
herself and children, should Thugsen die, persisting in his 
charge against her. And these sorrows and anxieties for 
herself and her loved ones were mingled with others, no less 
acute, for Ferdinand Cassinove and his unhappy wife. The 
hours that were to lead them to the scaffold were swiftly 
passing away ; and she who, possessing a guilty secret, might 
save him, must not breathe it because it would send her dy- 
ing husband, from his death-bed to a gaol, and indeed, could 
not divulge it because she was confined under lock and key, 
and prevented from holding conversation with any one. 

“ Surely no sorrows were ever equal to my sorrows,” cried 
Ruth, dropping upon her knees beside the bed, burying her 
face in the coverlet, and praying and sobbing by turns. 

Meanwhile, as the day waned, the shadows of death gcth. 
ered thickly around the wretched Thugsen. Medical aid 
had been unavailing except to ameliorate his acute suffering. 
Every succeeding fit of convulsion had been more violent, 
and followed by deeper prostration. The powerful organiza- 
tion that had held out so long against the action of the poison, 


THE BPwIDAL EVE. 


413 


was beginning to show signs of speedy dissolution. The 
gray hue of death overspread his countenance, the damps of 
death condensed thickly upon his icy brow ; yet his brain, 
like that of one dying under the effects of strychnine, was 
singularly clear. 

From time to time he spoke as follows ; 

“ Where is my guilty wife ? Keep her closely confined 
lict her talk with none.” 

He was always re-assured and soothed. 

At sunset all hope of his life was abandoned even by the 
physician, who had “hoped against hope.” He could no 
longer, in conscience, withhold from the wretched patient, the 
knowledge of his true condition. He bent over him, and 
whispered gently : 

“Captain Thugsen ” 

The sufferer flared open his eyes, and glared wildly at the 
speaker. 

“ Try to compose yourself, and if you have any worldly 
affairs to settle ” 

“ You think I am dying !” shrieked the unhappy man, start- 
ing up, and falling back exhausted. 

“ Life and death are in the hands of God,” said the doctor, 
gently. 

“You said I would not die.” 

“ Nor would you, if the utmost human skill could avail to 
save you.” 

“ Oh, it must — it must save me I lam not fit to die. Save 
me, doctor, save me I” 

And here followed pleadings of the most abject terror and 
anguish of a guilty and cowardly soul on the brink of 
eternity. 

The doctor administered a composing draught, and then 
said, gravely and sweetly : 

“ Captain Thugsen, the world has reported you, with what 
justice I know not, a great sinner, but this I would say to 
vou. that there is mercy for the greatest. Use the short 
space that is left you. in making restitution, so far as you 
can, for any wrong you may have committed, and then turn 
for mercy to Him with whom time and space is as nothing, 
and sincere repentance the one condition of pardon.” 


414 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


*' I cannot ! Oh, I cannot !” exclaimed the wretched man, 
hilling into the most frightful ravings of remorse and despair 

It was long before the united etlbrts of the physician and 
the magistrate could soothe his anguish. 

“ How many hours have I to live was then the question 
of the fast-sinking man. 

“ You may survive until morning ; yet I would advise you 
t j attend at once to any worldy business that you may have 
at heart, so that your last moments may be entirely given to 
the care of your soul,” said the physician, solemnly. 

“ Then let every one leave the room, except the magistrate, 
who will hear my statement, and the doctor, who will reduce 
it to writing,” said Thugsen, in a feeble voice. 

The chamber was cleared as he desired. A small table 
was then drawn up beside the bed ; a lighted lamp, a copy 
of the Holy Scriptures, and writing materials were placed 
upon it ; and the physician and the magistrate seated them- 
selves beside it. 

The magistrate duly administered the oath ; the doctor 
prepared his paper and pens ; and Robert Thugsen, in a 
feeble voice, often sinking into utter faintness, commenced 
his statement. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

THE LAST HOURS IN THE CONDEMNED CELL, 


Now, my best Laura, take my last embrace ; 

Come, be yourself, aud bear me say farewell. 

I leave thee with this truth, I have not words 
To speak thy worth, nor to describe my love ; 

The extremity of grief I feel at parting 
Is the best parallel to reach them both, 

Farewell forever; now, adieu the world.— Hbtcard. 


We must now return to Cassinove and his devoted wife, 
whom we left on their way to the prison. 

On entering again its gloomy portals, the governor, instead 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


415 


of conducting his prisoner to the clean, light, and airy cell he 
had occupied before his condeinnation, led him through the 
intricate passages of the prison, until they reached the ward 
of the condemned cells that flank the press-yard — dark, 
dreary, desolate region, where so much guilt and remorse, 
terror, and despair, aye, and even innocence and resignation, 
had entered to suffer, and left to die. 

Before one of these the governor paused, inserted a key 
wliich grated harshly in turning the lock, and conducted the 
prisoner into the gloomy cell whence he was doomed never to 
issue forth except to mount the scaffold. 

This was the thought that seemed to press the life from out 
their hearts. 

The judge, in pronouncing sentence, had forbidden them ta 
hope. But the kindly governor, seeing the shrinking of thei; 
natures at this crisis, and thinking, perhaps, that a singl(! 
grain of hope might prop instead of poisoning them, said : 

“Keep up your heart, sir; take comfort, ma’am. I know 
when a man enters one of these places he thinks it is all up 
with him in the world ; but. Lord bless you, it isn’t so. No 
one inexperienced in the ways of courts and prisons would 
think it, but really about one-half the prisoners who are con- 
demned to death have their sentences commuted, and some 
get pardoned outright; so hope on to the last, sir. While 
there’s lire there’s hope, you know, madam.” 

And so saying, Mr. Browning sat his iron lamp upon the 
stand, and looked around upon the cell. 

It was smaller, closer, and darker than the one Cassinove 
had formerly occupied, and the narrow bedstead, stand, and 
chair, were constructed of the rudest materials. 

From utter exhaustion, Laura sank into the chair, and 
looking at the governor, with beseeching eyes, said : 

“ How long may I be permitted to remain with my husband 
this evening, sir ?” 

“Until the usual hour of locking up, madam,” replied 
Mr. Browning, in some surprise at the question. 

Laura, sighed deeply. She had hoped upon this trying 
occasion that she might be permitted to stay longer. 

Bu' the prison rules were very rigid. 


416 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“I will leave you with Mr. Cassinove now, madam, and 
when the hour comes I will send an officer to let you out,’ 
said the governor, leaving the cell, and locking the door 
behind him. 

When they were left alone they looked into each other’s 
eyes, and then poor, suffering nature overcame, for an instant, 
all her heroic resolution, and Laura threw herself upon the 
neck of Cassinove, and wept bitterly, crying ; 

“ Oh ! is there no hope in this world ! Oh, that I could 
die for 3 "ou, my beloved ! my beloved I” 

He pressed her in silence to his bosom. He knew that all 
words would be vain while her storm of grief was raging. 
But when it had exhausted itself, and she was more composed, 
he seated her beside himself on the cot, and sought in every 
way, to soothe and comfort her. 

“Dearest, it is only death at worst, a doom that all must 
meet in some form or anocher. And, after all, what matters 
the form ? Mine will be a quick and painless exit. Trusting 
in the advocacy of the Saviour, and the mercy of the Creator, 
I do not fear the death or the judgment that is to follow it. 
I fear only to leave my Laura alone in the world ; and if any 
circumstance could disturb my last hours on earth or follow 
me to the ‘better land,’ it would be the thought of my be- 
loved wife, sorrowing without hope in the world. Oh, Laura, 
take courage for my sake.” 

“ I will, oh, I will, dearest I It was poor and cowardly in 
me to weep. I will weep no more. A few more hours and 
all our earthly troubles will be over forever; a few more 
hours and we shall have crossed this dark and rushing river 
of death, and landed on the other peaceful shore ‘ -where the 
wicked cease from troubling and the weary arc at rest.’” 

“ Dearest, do not talk of your dying. This is a bitter trial 
for you, I know ; the bitterest, perhaps, that a woman could 
be called to bear ; but you will have strength given you to 
bear up and live 1” 

“ To live I ah, to live for what ? I have but you I When 
you are gone there is no creature on earth whom my life 
could make better or happier I No, I cannot live; I feel it 
in every sinking pulse of my heart and brain. That is 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


417 


Heaven's great mercy to me that I cannot live I Oh, I will 
not fail too soon ! I will see you over the dark river, 
beloved, and then — follow you.” 

They were interrupted. 

The hour of closing the prison had not yet arrived, but 
the door was unlocked, and the governor, accompanied by the 
sheriff and under-sheriff, entered the cell. Upon seeing the 
prisoner’s wife present, the sheriff seemed somewhat embar- 
rassed, and said : 

“ Had not the lady better retire ?” 

The governor turned to Laura, and said : 

“ Will you oblige me by taking leave of your husband now, 
and withdrawing ?” 

“ No, no ! I claim your fulfilment of your promise, Mr. 
Browning, to let me stay with him up to the last moment 
before closing. Ah, sir, in mercy do not press me ; we have 
so little time to pass together on this earth, that every minute 
is priceless !” pleaded Laura. 

“ But, it will be very painful to you,” said the sheriff. 

“ Not more so than what I have already sustained and can 
yet endure,” answered Laura, sadly but firmly. 

“ Speak to her, Mr. Cassinove,” whispered the governor. 

“ My dearest Laura, be advised, and bid me good-night,” 
urged Cassinove. 

“Ah, do not you tell me to go, else I must, you know 
Let me stay as long as I may, Ferdinand ; and let the sheriff 
proceed with his duty — the nature of which I can well sur- 
mise. What you have to endure, I also can bear,” said 
Laura, reseating herself by his side. 

They urged her no more ; but the sheriff, taking a docu- 
ment from his pocket, said : 

“ I have a very painful duty to perform, from witnessing 
which I would gladly have saved this lady. I hold in my 
hand the warrant for the execution of Ferdinand Cassinove, 
at seven o’clock, a.m., on Monday next ” 

And unfolding the warrant, amid the dead silence of the 
assembled group, he read it aloud to the prisoner. 

Cassinove heard it with composure, and at its cloeo 
bowed, still ii silence. 

26 


418 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


The biiorili baid that any privilege or indulgence, within 
the rules of the prison, would be promptly extended to the 
prisoner, upon his application, and, with a deferential bow 
to Laura, be called his satellites, and retreated from the 
cell. 

When left alone again, the unhappy pair remained seated 
side by side, their hands clasped together in utter silence. 
No word had passed their lips since the reading of the death- 
warrant. Although by what had gone before, they were 
prepared for what was to come, yet the reading of the doom 
seemed to have stunned them into stillness. Cassinove was 
the first to shake off the spell and speak. 

“My own brave wife I you bore the ordeal well!’' he 
said. 

“ I will bear all the rest well, until all is over, and then 
— follow you !” said Laura. 

They remained mutually comforting each other for some 
fifteen minutes longer, and then the turnkey came his rounds, 
and informed Mrs. Ca.ssinove that she must withdraw fot 
the night. And Laura took leave of her husband, leav- 
ing him alone in his cell, and returned to her own desolate 
lodgings. 

Leaving Newgate, Laura threaded the narrow, dark and 
filthy courts and alleys of that miserable quarter, crowded as 
they were, with abandoned wretches of both sexes, and reached, 
at last, her own gloomy lodging-house, at the top of Skinner 
street, within sight of St. Sepulchre’s church. On the opposite 
side of the street she saw a close-carriage, with a coachman, 
whom she thought she recognized. But, too much ab.sorbed 
by her own anguish, she gave no thought to the circumstance, 
but entered at once her dreary lodgings, where no kind friend 
ever welcomed her, where she was always alone in her grief, 
as was the Divine Master in Gethsemane. 

She crept slowly and feebly up the dark staircase to the 
landing upon which her room was situated. She saw a tender, 
subdued light, shining from the partly-open door, and her 
lieart, broken down by sorrow, sunk with a strange foreboding 
of more misery, if more could come to one whose cup was 
already fverflowing. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


419 


She timidly pushed open the door, and entered. 

And the next moment she was clasped in the arms of 
Rose. Poor Rose was no philosopher, and all she could 
do now was to clasp her friend to her loving bosom, and sob 
forth ; 

“ Oh, my dear, dear Laura ! my dear, dear Laura ! my heart 
bleeds for you. Oh, may the Lord comfort you, Laura, for no 
human being can, I know !” 

“ This is very kind. Rose, to leave your pleasant palace- 
nome, and come to such an abode of misery as this,” said 
Laura, in an exhausted voice. 

“ Oh, did you think I could stay at home, knowing that 
you were alone, and suffering here ? Oh, no ; as soon as the 
news of the verdict reached us, I got ready, and ordered the 
carriage, and drove here. I have been here an hour. I knew 
you were at the prison, and I should have gone thither, but ] 
thought you would prefer being alone with him this evening; 
so I waited for you here.” 

“ Bless you. Rose I but the duke, did he approve of your 
coming ?” 

“ My dear husband ? Ah, I see you do not know him yet. 
Yos, he approved of my coming ; he thinks you should not 
remain alone here in this dread trial ; he made me promise to 
bring you back to Beresleigh House to-night, if I could per- 
suade you to come. Do, dearest Laura I You shall live as 
privately as you like ; not even a strange servant shall intrude 
on you, for I have sent for your own old maid, and your old 
footman, who both love you, and they shall serve you in your 
own apartments. You can have a close-carriage appropriated 
to your sole use, and so visit the prison as early in the morn- 
ing as you like. It will be just as convenient for you to ride 
from Beresleigh House, as to walk from Skinner street, and 
will take no more time. And Mr. Cassinove himself will feel 
more tranquil when he knows you are among friends, for, 
Laura, you shall never leave us more with our consent ; you 
shall be our adopted sister, dearer than all other sisters. You 
do not answer me. Oh, Laura, consent, dearest,” pleaded 
Rose, pressing her friend to her bosom with nervous eagerness. 
They were, bj this time, seated on the threadbare sofa, side 


420 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


by side, Rose having her arms clasped around Laura, who 
answered : 

“ I thank and bless you, sweet Rose, but I cannot avail 
myself of your loving kindness.” 

“ Oh, Laura, don’t say so ! Dearest Laura, take pity on 
rne ; my heart is bleeding for your woes and his, and bleeding 
all the more, because — oh, heaven ! — I feel nn^self so weak, 
BO utterly powerless to give you any saving help. Ah ! let 
me do what I can, or my heart will break outright,” cried 
Rose, bursting into a passion of tears, and clasping closely 
the friend she longed to succor. 

“ Sweet, loving Rose, ask your own woman-heart if I could 
bear to enter a home of luxury while my husband suffers in 
the condemned cell ? No, Rose, no ; the very desolation and 
wretchedness of my anode give me a sort or comfort,” said 
Laura, mournfully. 

“ But if not for yourself, and not for me, for Mr. Cassmove’s 
own sake, come with me I He would be happier if he knew 
you were with us. It would remove the only earthly anxiety 
he can have, to know that you were safe, with dear friends, 
who would love you as a sister all their lives,” urged Rose. 

“ Dearest child, your affection inspires you with very spe- 
cious arguments, but they will not do. Rose. I must 
remain here, for here I feel in every respect nearer to my 
husband.” 

Then you will not be persuaded to go with me ?” wept 
Rose. 

No, my pitying angel, because I cannot; but I bless you 
from my deep heart for your love.” 

“ A^ery well, then ; if you will not go with me, I will stay 
with you,” said the young duchess, wiping away her tears. 

“ Rose !” exclaimed Laura, in mournful astonishment. 

“Yes, I will, Laura; I will, dear sister of my heart. I 
will stay with you all through these bitter hours to the very 
last, Whe'n you go to the prison to see Cassinove, I will be 
here to receive you in my arms when you come back,” said 
Rose, resolutely. “And when all is over, I will carry you 
off to Beresleigh House, never to leave us more,” she added, 
mentally. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


421 


=' But Rose, clarlinp^, I must not permit you to remain here,” 

“But \will, Laura, do you hear!” replied the younp^ duch- 
ess, obstinately. Then suddenly changing her tone, she once 
more threw her arms passionately around her friend, and 
pressed her weeping to her heart, saying — “ Oh, you would 
not be so cruel as to rend me from you now, when you are in 
such bitter trouble ; do not, Laura ! To leave you so would 
almost be my death.” 

“But the duke. Rose ?” 

“ Oh, my dear husband permits his poor Rose to do just as 
she pleases, so that she pleases to do right. I had provided for 
this contingency. I told him if I could not bring you with 
me, I should remain with you.” 

“And he consented ?” 

“Yes, for he knew it would make me ill to leave you alone 
in your sorrow.” 

“And can you think so much of me and my sorrows when 
you have so heavy a trouble of your own ?” 

A pallor like death suddenly overspread the face of the 
young duchess, as she murmured, in a frightened tone — 

“Yes, oh yes, I have not forgotten that; but I must not 
think of it — it will do no good; 1 must think of you. Oh, 
Laura, how pale and thin you are 1 how faint your voice is I 
You have utterly neglected ydurself ; you have taken no re- 
freshment since the morning, have you ?” 

“Nothing, but a glass of wine ; I could not, you know.” 

“ Then I must make you take something once — for his sake, 
Laura, that your frame may be strengthened for your duties 
to-morrow,” said Rose, ingeniously, getting up to search the 
room, and inquiring ; 

“ Is there a bell in this dreary place ? and who wafts on 
you, dear Laura ?” 

“ The landlady,” replied Laura, touching the bell that was 
at her own elbow, 

The pnze woman promptly answered the summons. Her 
sharp eye had noticed the ducal coronet upon the carriage, 
and the live ”ied servants that attended it, and she had guessed 
the rank of i aura’s visitor, though she was unable to surmise 
the cause of the visit. 


422 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


“ My friend, your lodger here is not well. Will you be 
kind enough to prepare a basin of strong beef-tea as quickly 
as you can said the young duchess. 

“ Certainly, madam, your ladyship — I mean your grace,” 
answered Mrs. Brown, stopping a moment to swallow with 
her eyes the apparition of a living duchess in her dominions, 
and then courtesying and retiring. 

“Beef-tea will be the best thing for you to take, dear 
Laura ; it will give you the strength you need, and you can 
take that when you cannot force nature to receive any thing 
else.” 

“ You shall do as you please with me, here, sweet Rose.” 

In due time the much-needed restorative w’as brought, and 
Rose gently obliged her exhausted friend to partake of it 
freely, after which she made Laura lie down upon the sofa, 
while she sat beside it. 

“Now shut your dear eyes, and try to take some rest,” 
urged Rose. 

But not for an instant did those “tired eyelids” close upon 
those “ tired eyes.” Rose saw how it was, and said : 

“ Oh, if you cannot compose yourself to rest, dear Laura, 
speak, utter all that is in your heart ; it is better than sup- 
pressing your feelings ; any thing is better than lying there 
in silence, and gazing into vacancy with those awful eyes.” 

“ Rose, Rose, he is to die at seven on Monday morning !” 
exclaimed Laura, wildly uttering the thought uppermost in 
her mind. 

“iSans peur et sans reproche, he is not afraid to die or meet 
his Divine Judge,” said Rose. 

“ But oh, to think that the miscreant for whose crime he 
suffers, walks abroad at large I” 

“ Do you suspect, then, who did the deed ?” 

“ I more than suspect it. I know it in my heart of hearts. 
I caused the wretch to be arrested and examined before a 
magistrate, but there seemed to be no evidence to warrant 
the indictment of the guilty man, although there w .s suflBcient 
to convict the innocent one.” 

“ May you not be mistaken, then, dear Laurr ?” 

Iiaura shook her head in bitterness of spirit 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


423 


Who is it then, dear Laura, that you suspect of this 
crime 

“ One whose name is odious throughout Europe for an un- 
natural and monstrous deed, for which he is no longer in 
danger of justice, since Sir Vincent Lester, the only witness 
against him, is dead.” 

“ You mean ” exclaimed Hose, catching her breath. 

“ Robert Thugsen. But what is the matter, dear Rose ?” 

Oh, Laura, did you know — did you know this miscreant 
is my persecutor also ?” 

“ No ; you astonish me. I thought it was a Captain 
Rutherford, of the 10th Hussars.” 

“ No ; that was only the feigned name under which he 
tried to marry me. Shall I tell you all about it, Laura ? 
Perhaps m}’" narrative may throw some light upon your sus- 
picions.” 

“Yes, dearest,” replied her friend, hoping to learn some 
new fact that might, even at this late hour, save the guilt- 
less. 

Ruse commenced, and related the whole history of her 
Drokeii marriage, as she had already narrated it to the duke. 

While she spoke, Laura raised herself up from the sofa, and 
gazed earnestly at the speaker, and when Rose had finished 
her own narrative, Laura said : 

“And is this the man who dares to claim your hand, and 
start a criminal prosecution on his claim ?” 

“ Yes. Is it not infamous 

“ It is imbecile. Oh, that we had had an understanding 
before. It would have saved you from much anxiety. I 
could have told you a month ago, what I tell you now. The 
man has a wife and children now living.” 

Rose gasped for breath, as she sprang nearer her friend, 
and gazed wildly into her face, exclaiming : 

“ Is this so ? Do. you know it of your own knowledge ? 
^Vhere is the woman ?” 

Laura sank back upon the sofa. She had spoken too 
quickly and too much — more than she could prove. She did 
not know of her own knowledge that Thugsen had a wife ; 
she had only the word of the self-styled wife, who did not 


424 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


even bear his name, and who had behaved very strangely m 
running away and hiding herself from pursuit. 

“ Speak, speak, dear Laura. Is this really so ? Are you 
sure of it exclaimed Rose, excitedl3% 

“ 1 believe it, though, perhaps, there may be a difficulty in 
proving it.” 

“ Tell me what you. know.” 

Ijaura related the history of her acquaintance with Ruth 
Rus.sel, and described the interview with the landlady upon 
the evening when Robert Thugsen unexpectedly returned to 
the house. 

“And the woman — where is she now ?” cried Rose, ex- 
citedly. 

“ She disappeared with her children the next morning, and 
.las not since been heard of. The man actually threw him- 
self in the way of the warrant I had got issued for his arrest — 
‘to have the farce over,’ as he said to the magistrate.” 

“But the woman ?” persisted Rose. 

“ Has passed entirely out of sight. But you must tell the 
duke what I have told you, and the woman must be found, 
and the fact of her marriage proved.” 

They conversed some time longer upon the ecclaircitisemeni 
of the evening, and then Rose, whose eyes were affectionately 
watching her friend, said : 

“ Laura, can you not sleep now ?” 

“ I think I shall never sleep again in this world, dearest.” 

“ Oh, then I must make you sleep — that is all.” 

And so saying. Rose summoned the landlady and despatched 
her to the nearest chemist to procure an opiate. While Mrs. 
Brown was gone. Rose, with her own hands, undressed Laura 
and made her go to bed. And when the landlady returned 
she administered the morphine, and soon had the satisfaction 
of seeing the wearied woman in a sound sleep. 

Rose drew an arm-chair to the bedside, and, dressed as she 
was, seated herself in it, to a rest that was half watchful- 
ness. 

Several times during the night Laura started and shud- 
dered throughout her frame, as though the consciousness of 
misery pursued her even in her dreams. But towards morn- 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 425 

ing, she sank into a profouncler rest, and lay as one dead for 
many hours. 

At six o’clock Rose softly left her seat, extinguished the 
night-light, and opened the windows, to air the room. And 
Laura still slept the deep, deep sleep of exhaustion, the effect 
of many nights’ vigilance. 

By the time Rose had arranged her toilet, set the room in 
order, and resumed her seat by the bedside, Laura awoke 
with a start, looked around with a bewildered air, and ex- 
claimed : 

“Was it a dream ?” Then, suddenly falling and covering 
her face with her bands, she groaned in the full memory of 
\11 her woe. 

Rose went and stood silently beside her for a few moments, 
and then ventured to stoop and press a kiss upon her cold 
hands. 

Laura immediately removed them from her face, and looked 
up, asking : 

“ What is the hour, dear Rose 

“ Jt is Just seven, Laura.” 

“Just seven. And at seven, to-morrow — Oh, God I he 
has but twenty-four hours to live. Rose I” 

“ He has all eternity to live ! Try to think of bis immor- 
tality,” said the young duchess, stooping and kissing her 
friend. 

Then, leaving Laura to collect herself, she went and ordered 
breakfast. 

When she returned, she waited on Laura with all the ten- 
derness of a sister, bathing her face, combing her hair, dress- 
ing her with care, making her partake of the tea and toast, 
when it was brought, and, finally, ordered a cab to convey 
her to Newgate. 

When the cab was summoned, Rose put on her own bon- 
net and mantle, saying — 

“You must let me accompany you to the prison, dear 
Laura. I will not intrude. I will remain outside in the cab 
until I hear whether Mr. Cassinove is willing to see me. If 
ne is, I will visit the cell for a few minutes ; if not, I will re 
turn h/^re and await your arrival.” 


426 


THE BKIDAL EVE. 


“ Dear Rose, the prison is not a proper place for you tu 
visit ; you have stepped very far out of your sphere to come 
to see me.” 

“Any place is proper for me to visit where my duty calls 
me. So say no more, dear Laura, for I will attend you.” 

Too despairing to contend, Laura yielded ; and they went 
down-stairs together, and entered the cab. It was but a 
short drive to Newgate. 

When they reached the prison, Laura left the young duch- 
ess in the cab, and entered alone. An officer in attendance 
conducted her at once to the condemned cell. When the 
door was opened, she saw Dr. Clark and the Rev. Mr. Watson 
sitting on the side of the cot, and talking to Cassinove, who 
was seated upon a stool. 

Cassinove immediately arose, and seated his wife in tho 
only chair. 

The physician and clergyman stood up and greeted her 
with grave sympathy. And then, saying that they would 
return again in the course of the forenoon, retired, and left 
the unhappy pair together. 

Both were more composed than they had been on the even- 
ing before. They had need to be calm, for what a day was 
before them 1 

The last day of Cassinove’s life swiftly passing away. 

After they had clasped each other’s hands, and looked wist- 
fully in each other’s eyes and had asked and answered ques- 
tions as to how each had passed the night, and Laura had 
told of the kindness of the young duchess, she added — 

“ Rose is waiting in the cab outside. She wishes to see 
you, if you have no objection.” 

“ Certainly not, love ; go, bring her at once, that I may 
thank her for her angelic goodness to you,’’ said Cassinove. 

Laura went to bring Rose. As the young duchess entered 
the portals of the gloomy prison, she involuntarily shuddered, 
and clung as for protection to Laura. 

“Ah, if she trembles so at the entrance, how will she be at 
the sight of the condemned cell, and the man who is doomed 
to die ?” thought Laura. But Rose was already engaged in 
fiontrolling her feelings, so that by the time she. had reached 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


427 


the door of the cell, she was as calm and firm as Laura her- 
self — only shivering slightly as she passed the grated door 
into the narrow and gloomy den. 

Cassinove was standing up with a cheerful countenance to 
receive her. 

•' This is very kind ; I cannot thank you enough for your 
goodness to my wife,” he said, placing a chair for Rose. 

“You have little to thank me for, because, in fact, she will 
DOT. let me serve her.” 

“ Oh, Rose,” said Laura. 

“I am sure, then, that 3mu have served her in spite of her- 
self,” said Cassinove. 

“ I ICO III d do so, if I could. Mr. Cassinove, I do not come 
here on an empty visit, or only to take up a portion of the 
precious time that you two have to be together. I came with 
1 purpose that is very near my heart.” Rose paused, and 
Cassinove looked interested and attentive. Rose resumed, 
with some embarrassment, that soon, however, gave way 
before the affectionate candor and simplicity of her nature — ■ 
“ Mr. Cassinove, will you permit me to speak to you as I 
should if you were my brother ? Thank you, I know ^mu 
would. It is of your wife that I wish to speak. She is your 
only source of anxiety now, is she not ?” 

“ She is indeed, madam ; but for the thought of my .wife I 
could die content,” said Cassinove, bitterly. 

“ Mr. Cassinove, Laura is to me like a dear sister, and 
more than a sister, for I love her more than any one in the 
world except one.” 

“ You are the angel of her life, as she is of mine,” said the 
prisoner 

“ Mr. Cassinove, if my position and hers were reversed, 
if I were in the same straits to which she is now reduced, I 
would throw myself upon her noble heart for sjunpathy, and 
feel sure of finding it. What I know Laura in such a case 
would be to me, I wish to be to her,” said Rose, earnestly. 

“ I am sure that you will be all that the kindest friend can 
be to my bereaved wife,” replied the young man, gratefully 

“ Yes, Mr. Cassinove, and after — after — when ” 

The words «-cemed to suffocate her, for she could proceed 
n<r further 


428 


I'HE BRIDAL EVE. 


Wneu all is over with me,” suggested the prisoner, in a 
gentle voice. 

“ When you are w’ith God,” said Rose, in a firmer tone, 
“ then I would pray Laura to return with me to Beresleigh 
TToiisc, and share my heart and home forever.” 

Cassinove looked with reverential admiration upon L>er 
eloquent young face, but answ^ered nothing as yet. 

She continued — 

“ I fear it will be thought too presumptuous in me to ask 
such a thing of Laura ; I should scarcely venture so much 
if 1 did not know that her greatest comfort will be found in 
doing good, and that her presence will be a great good 
to me.” 

“And — the duke, madam ?” 

“ My husband understands the great blessing that Laura 
would be to me, and for that reason, as well as for the high 
esteem he has for her, he warmly approves the plan. He 
authorizes all that I have said, and more.” 

The doomed man looked from the earnest, fervent coun- 
tenance of the young duchess, to the beautiful, pale face of 
his wife, and hesitated. Rose, seeing his embarrassment, 
hastened to say — 

“ Oh, Mr. Cassinove, I have already spoken to Laura. 
Do you also speak to her ; she will not gainsay you. Per- 
suade her to consent to share my home, and then leave her 
with confidence to my heart. To me and to my husband, 
she shall be as the dearest of our sisters.” 

“Ah, your sisters, madam — how would they receive my 
stricken one ?” inquired Cassinove, turning a look of unutter- 
able love and compassion upon his wife. 

“ With the warmest welcome, with the most respectful 
sympathy. All will study her comfort, from my noble 
mother-in-law down to me. We are a united family, Mr 
Cassinove. We think with one mind, and feel with one 
heart. Oh, believe it.” 

“Alas, madam, I have but words, and words are all too 
poor and vain to express how profoundly I feel your 
goodness.” 

“You app ove my plan, and you will persuade Laura to 
agree to it ?” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


429 


“My wife will require no persuasion to become your 
guest for a few weeks, and I shall be tranquillized to think 
that in the first days of her grief she will be in a safe haven, 
among dear friends.” 

“Laura, you hear?” exclaimed Rose, turning to her 
friend. 

“ Yes, T :ear, sweet Rose,” replied the pale woman. Then 
going to her husband, she asked, “Is this your will, dear 
Cassinove ? Shall you be happier to have me so dis- 
posed of ?” 

“ Yes, love, yes ; it were ungracious and ungrateful to re- 
fuse so kind an offer. You will go to the Duchess of 
Beresleigh for a few weeks, until you have recovered the 
shock of this calamity. Afterwards, Providence will pro- 
vide.” 

“ She will never have the heart to leave me, I will love her 
so well,” said Rose, rising, and gravely embracing Laura. 
Then looking at Cassinove, she said, “ This is settled.” 

“ It is settled,” answered the prisoner and his wife in the 
same breath. 

There was a pause, and then a sudden paleness overspread 
the face of Rose. She knew that she must not longer intrude 
upon the last hours of the condemned man and his devoted 
wife, but she felt all the horror of bidding a last farewell to 
a man doomed to die a violent death in a few hours. 

For an instant the sudden and acute realization of all this 
overwhelmed her, the scene darkened before her eyes, the 
door seemed to sink under her feet. 

“ Oh, I must not faint ! I must not even be weak, I, who- 
am required to support others,” was the thought that called 
oack her ebbing strength. She went up to Cassinove and 
offered him both her hands, saying: 

“ Mr. Cassinove, I need not tell you that I believe fully in 
your innocence ; you know that I do. May the Almighty and 
A ll-Merciful support and comfort you ! When I am out of 
your sight, I shall be on my knees in prayer for you. Good- 
bye.” 

“Farewell, bhssed angel I may the richest blessings of 
Heaven .descend on you and yours,” said Cassinove, with 
deep emotion. 


430 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Rose turned to the prisoner’s wife, saying : 

“ I shall come for you, Laura, at the hour of closing. Good 
bye for the present.” 

Laura rose to accompany her back to the hackney-ccAch, 
but outside the cell-door she met Doctor Clark, and consigned 
Lose to his care. 

Meanwhile, Laura remained in the cell with her husband 
jntil the return of Doctor Clark and Mr. AYatson, when she 
retired to let them speak unreservedly to Cassinove, while she 
herself went to seek an interview with the warden of the 
prison. On entering his office, she sat down, and, in a hesi- 
tating manner, preferred her mournful request to be permitted 
to remain with her husband on this last night of his life; but 
she was kindly, though firmly, informed that the rules would 
not allow her to do so. 

Laura saw that entreaties and prayers would be of no avail 
to break these stern rules, and, in pale despair, she arose and 
left the office. 

As Laura re-entered Cassinove’s cell, she was surprised to 
observe that Mr. Watson was no longer there, but that an 
unexpected visitor. Colonel Hastings, was seated beside 
Cassinove, whose suddenly blanched face and fixed eyes be- 
trayed the fact that he had received some unexpected intelli- 
gence that even in this day of doom had power to transfix 
him. Both the prisoner and the visitor were so deeply 
absorbed that they neither of them observed the entrance of 
Laura, who sank unnoticed into her chair. Colonel Hastings 
was saying : 

“ After the sudden death of my son, I hastened from 
Baden-Baden to do you this late justice. I found you on trial 
for life, and had no opportunity of communicating with you. 
I placed myself among the witnesses for your defence, and 
awaited the issue of the trial. After your conviction I saw 
that there was no time to be lost in trying to obtain tho 
clemency of the Crown. I sought the minister irnmedialoly. 
I found the Duke of-Beresleigh with him on the same errand 
of friendship, but we failed of obtaining his favor This 
morning I obtained an audience with the King, and having 
preferred my petition, was bluntly refused and dismissed. 


THE BEIDAL EVE. 


431 


I next sought an interview with the Queen, and implored 
her intercession, but in vain, for neither pardon, commuta- 
tion, nor respite could 1 get. In despair I returned home, 
and thouglit that I would let the matter drop, as the revela- 
tion at such a crisis would avad nothing. But then an irre- 
sistible desire to confess every thing, and obtain your forgive- 
ness, brought me hither.” 

“ It is very, very bitter — say nothing to her of this until it 
is all over; to know it now would only increase her dis- 
tress; whereas the knowledge a few days hence might have 
a beneficial etfect upon her spirits. Now, if you please, 
Colonel Hastings, bring me those documents of which we 
spoke, and an able lawyer at once ; I have but little time to 
attend to some necessary forms; the rest must be left to your 
management.” 

“ If I live I will do all I can towards making restitution,” 
said the colonel, rising to leave the cell, and seeing for the 
first time that the wife of the prisoner had entered. 

“Good-morning, Lady — I should say, Mrs. Cassinove. 
You see here one dying man come to ask pardon of another,” 
said the colonel, solemnly, as he bowed and left the cell. 

And indeed his very decrepit appearance seemed to warrant 
his grave words. 

As soon as he was gone, Laura spoke : 

“ I must not deceive you, Cassinove. I have been here 
some minutes, and I overheard the conclusion of your inter- 
view with Colonel Hastings.” 

“ And you have learned 

“ Nothing, but that something has been concealed from 
me.” 

“ Only for a few days, dear one, then you shall know all. 
And then — you will try to bear up and live for my sake ?” 

She turned on him a look of unutterable aflection, and gave 
him her hand. 

They were soon interrupted by the return of Colonel 
Hastings with a lawyer. 

“ Retire for a little while, dearest. I must see the gentle- 
man alone,” said Cassinove. 

And Laura left the cell, and took her seat upon a bench in 


432 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


the passage outside. She looked up and saw one of ths 
officers of the prison approaching. She asked him what 
o’clock it was. 

“Gone three.” 

Gone three I and she must leave him forever at six. Only 
three hours h^ft, and those men taking up the precious time I 

While she sat there with her life-powers ebbing away, 
Dr. Clark and Mr. Watson came up. The worthy physician 
and the good pastor had been in attendance upon Cassinove 
the greater part of the day. They looked surprised to see 
Laura sitting outside ; but she explained to them that her 
husband was engaged with his lawyer. 

The clergyman sat down beside her. Dr. Clark took her 
hand, and looked into her face, and then hurriedly walked 
away. F.e returned in a few minutes with a glass of wine 
and a biscuit, of which he forced Laura to partake. 

At that moment, also, the cell-door opened, and Colonel 
Hastings and the lawyer came out. They bowed in passing, 
and immediately left the prison. 

It was now past four o’clock ; in two hours more Laura 
must bid her husband a final adieu. She re-entered the cell, 
accompanied by her two old friends, to pass those two 
precious, awful hours in his company. They found Cassi- 
nove grave and collected. He greeted his friends calmly, 
and then drew Laura to his side, and sat with her hand 
clasped in his. Oh, the clasp of that loved hand, so soon to 
be convulsed in a violent death ! Oh, the glance of those 
loving eyes, so soon to be closed forever ! The thought was 
suffocating, maddening to her. All the suffering of the last 
few dreadful days had failed to prepare her for this hour of 
supreme agony. She felt that sudden death or insanity 
threatened her, that heart or brain must instantly give way. 
She breathed a silent, agonized prayer, for help and strength. 
Mr. Watson noticed her increasing agony, and knowing the 
efficacy of Divine consolation in such extreme cases, he pro- 
posed that all should kneel and unite in invoking it. They 
knelt, and the venerable clergyman poured forth his soul iu 
earnest prayer for the doomed prisoner, and for his most 
afflicted wife. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


433 


They arose from their knees strengthened to endure. And 
^hougli her brain still reeled, and her heart still ble(i, Laura 
felt that she could now retain life and reason through the 
anguish of the hour. 

Mr. Watson signed to Doctor Clark, and said : 

“ Cassinove, we will leave you together now until the hour • 
closing, then we shall return, I to pass the night with you, 
and the doctor to receive your wife. Be firm, dear friends ; 
continue to call on ‘ Him who sounded the depths of human 
woe’ to be your stay and comfort. Remember that this part- 
ing is but fora little time. Life at longest is but a span ; and 
your re-union hereafter, in the better land, will be for all 
eternity.” 

And so saying the good pastoi pressed the hands of Laura 
and Cassinove, and beckoned Doctor Clark to follow him from 
the cell. 

“ They have little more than half an hour; let them pass 
it together,” said Mr. Watson, as soon as they were out of 
the cell. 

Nor will we, reader, intrude upon a grief so sacred. We 
will remain with the clergyman and the physician in the 
passage, where they passed the sad interval in pacing up and 
down before the closed door of the cell, until an ofiicer of the 
prison advanced and told them that the lady who had been 
there in the morning had returned in her carriage, and was 
waiting to receive Mrs. Cassinove. 

Doctor Clark went immediately to receive Rose, and con- 
duct her to the door of the cell. 

The pallid brow and dilated eyes of the young lady be- 
trayed the S3unpathetic sulferings that she would willingly 
have concealed. 

“ Can you bear this, madam ?” anxiously inquired Doctor 
Clark. 

“ Yes, 3ms; ‘ as my day is, so shall my strength be.’ Is it 
not so, Mr. Watson ?” 

“ Yes, dear madam, so may you prove it,” replied the min- 
ister. 

She needed all her strength now, for the great crisis of 
suffering had arrived. 

27 


m 


THE B KI D A L EVE. 


The governor of the prison came up, saying : 

“It is six o’clock, Mr. Watson. Will you be so good as to 
go to the prisoner and tell him so, and bring his unhappy wife. 
It seems a cruel thing to part them to-night, but in such cases 
the iron rule is the most merciful.” 

Mr. Watson bowed, and slowly and sadly entered the cell. 

. Oassinove and his devoted wife were standing together, his 
arm supporting her form, her head resting upon his breast 

“ Is it time ?” he inquired. 

“ It is time,” replied the minister. 

“ The hour has come, love,” said Cassinove, stooping and 
whispering to his wife. 

She raised her head, and fixed her eyes upon his face with 
a long, long gaze, threw her arms around him again, and 
clasped him to her heart with the strength of despair, as 
though her frail arms could have held him away from the 
whirlpool of fate that was drawing him from her. She 
muttered incoherent, gasping phrases, of which nothing could 
be distinguished but the words — 

“ Oh, must I — must I go, even now ? God bless you, love ! 
Farewell I farewell !” 

“ God be with you, my own true wife I Farewell I’’ said 
Cassinove, gently disengaging her arms from about his neck, 
and giving her to the charge of Mr. Watson. 

The good minister supported her from the cell. She was 
white, cold, and sinking; her life seeined ebbing fast from 
her. But the forethought of Doctor Clark had provided for 
this emergency. They sat her down upon the bench beside 
the young duchess, who tenderly supported her fainting form, 
while the doctor bathed her face in spirits of camphor. 

Then, after a few minutes, supported on one side by Doctor 
Clark, and on the other by Mr. Watson, and attended by 
Rose, she was taken to the carriage. Rose got in first that 
she might receive Laura, who was placed, more dead than 
alive, in the carriage. Rose received Laura in her arms, and 
supported her on her bosom, and the order was given to drive 
to ]>ere&leigh House. No word broke the stillness of that 
ride. Rose could not mock that awful sorrow with any 
commonplaces of consolation. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


483 


When they reached the Beresleigh House they found 
Doctor Clark there awaiting them. He had thrown himself 
in a hackney-coach and preceded them, to attend upon ^Irs, 
Cassinove, whose condition, he foresaw, would require his 
utmost medical skill, 

Laura was lifted immediately from the carriage, and con- 
veyed to bed in the sumptuous chamber prepared for her, 
where she lay insensible to all that was passing around her, 
looking more like the dead than the living. 


CHAPTER XXXV, 

THE CHAMBER OF REST. 

All is ended now, the hope and the fear and the sorrow, 

All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing; 

All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience. 

* * * * 

Laura had not spoken since she had been brought to 
Beresleigh House. All night long she lay senseless and 
seemingly without life. Doctor Clark and Rose watched 
beside her till long after the sun had risen. 

At length the doctor arose, and coming around to the side 
of the duchess, said : , 

“You may retire to rest now, my dear madam. The last 
earthly troubles of Ferdinand Cassinove are over.” 

Rose looked up in wild affright. 

“ It is past eight o’clock ; he died, you know, at seven.” 

Rose with difficulty suppressed a shriek, although the news 
gave her inexpressible relief, for she thought — 

“ His soul is no longer agonized on earth ; it is at peace 
with God,” 

“ You will do well to retire to rest at once. I expect Mr. 
Watson here very soon. He promised, you know, to remain 
with Cassinove until all should be over, and then to com« 
and bring his last words to his wife.” 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


m 

“ Then I will stay till he comes, and I see Low my dearest 
Laura bears it,” said Rose, resolutely. 

Laura’s condition seemed to change; from time to time 
she partially opened her eyes, and moaned as one in intoler- 
able pain. At last she spoke : 

“ Oh, the long, long night — the long, long night — how 
does he bear it ?” 

At this moment there came a gentle knock at the chamber 
door. Mrs. Maberly went to oi)en it. A servant appeared, 
who delivered a message, and retired. Mrs. Maberly came 
back to the doctor, and in her turn whispered : 

“ The Reverend Mr. Watson, if you please, sir, is down- 
stairs in the library waiting to see you.” 

The doctor nodded, and then looked anxiously at Laura. 
She seemed to have sunk back into apathy. He felt her 
pulse, and then, with a sad shake of the head, laid the pale, 
attenuated hand down upon the bed, and arose and glided 
from the room. 

He went softly down the stairs and opened the library door. 

Mr. Watson advanced to meet him ; they shook hands in 
silence, and then the doctor said : 

“ You have come to tell us that it is finished.” 

“ No — look there,” rei)lied the clergyman, drawing his 
friend towards a gentleman who stood at the window with 
his back towards them. 

This gentleman turned around, and when the doctor rai.sed 
his eyes, he stood face to face with 

Ferdinand Cassinove ! 

Yes, with Ferdinand Cassinove, who, holding out his hand, 
exclaimed, in a broken voice : 

“ My wife I how is she, doctor ?” 

“Great heaven of heavens I Cassinove I alive! es 
caped !” exclaimed the doctor, beside himself with astonish- 
ment. 

'^Pardoned, fully and entirely pardoned, for — a crime that 
ne never committed,” replied the clergyman, gravely. 

The doctor turned and met Cassinove’s dark eyes, and 
grasped his hands in speechless joy, that presently found ex- 
pi-ession in a burst of manly tears. 


r 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 437 

“ But how is this ? What moved the Minister ? Tell me 
all about it 

“ Wliat moved the Minister was the attested confession of 
the wretch who really did commit the crime, and who has 
now irone to answer for it. Cassinove, the jruiltless victim 
of circumstantial evidence, was to have suffered at seven 
o’clock this morning. At seven o’clock this morning Cassi- 
nove was free, and Thugsen, the threefold murderer, was 
dead by liis own hand !” 

“ For lieaven’s sake, how was that ?” inquired the greatly- 
agitated doctor. 

“ I will tell you all by-and-by. The attested dying con- 
fession of Thugsen was in the hands of tlie Minister' last 
night; but for the abominable routine, Cassinove mignt have 
been free last night, and we all have been saved twelve hour.'* 
of anguish. Tlie pardon was placed in the hands of the 
sheriff at six o’clock this morning. An hour later and a legat 
murder had been committed. There, that is all I can teli 
you now, for I see that Cassinove is anxious that his wife 
should be comforted.” 

“ My wife ! how did she pass the trying night? How is 
she this morning?” inquired Cassinove. 

“ She passed the night in patient, silent anguish ; this 
morning she may scarcely be said to live. But do not be 
alarmed ; the news that I shall presently carry her will bring 
back her life. Yes, Cassinove, this is my firm conviction, 
that if you had died this morning, she would not have sur- 
vived until night.” 

“ Oh, good friend, will you not go to her immediately, and 
break this news to her, and prepare her to see me ?” said 
Cassinove, turning anxiously to Mr. Watson. 

“Patience, my young friend ; I must consult her physician 
first. Will it not be dangerous to communicate this intelli- 
gence in her present exhausted state, Doctor ?” 

“ No ; I certainly think not ; it is just the sort of shock sh 
requires to bring her back from the borders of the grave.” 

“ But the dangerous effects of sudden joy ?” 

“ Circumstances alter cases. The sudden joy that would 
kill a person in the full possession of their health and 
strength, would only electrify to new life one dying of grief. 


^38 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


It is the principle of the antidote, sir — the principle of the 
antidote. So come with me, if you please, Mr Watson, to 
Mrs. Cassinove’s bedside. Come, Cassinove,” said the good 
doctor, leading the way up-stairs. 

When they had reached the chamber door, the ■ doctor 
paused, and said — 

“ We must use caution in applying this electric shock, 
however. You two had better remain outside a few mo- 
ments, until I go and prepare her.” 

We will draw a veil over the awaking of Laura from 
her stupor, and the agonized joy of meeting with her husband. 
As soon as she had sufficiently recovered her self-possession, 
Cassinove, with his form dilated with pride, and his eyes 
beaming with joy, informed her that she was again the 
Baroness of Etheridge, and that the title came through him. 
That was the secret which Colonel Hastings had communi- 
cated to liim. He was no longer Ferdinand Cassinove, but 
Ferdinand Etheridge, the son of the late baron and Mary 
Coke, the beautiful daughter of his gamekeeper, whom he 
had married before running away with her. After his second 
marriage, (with Rose’s mother,) he had hesitated to own his 
son ; but on his death-bed he had told the whole story to 
Colonel Hastings, placed the necessary documents in his 
hands to establish its truth, and requested him to see that 
his darling boy was put in po.ssession of his rights. Hast- 
ings had betrayed his trust, for the sake of aggrandizing his 
son ; but all his plans had been thwarted by Providence, and 
the terrible death of Albert had at last brought him to 
repentance. 

“ Will you value the rank and title the less because you 
must receive it from me?” inquired Cassinove of Laura, in 
a voice that was every moment becoming more agitated 
“ You gave me your hand in marriage when I was a poor 
prisoner in Newgate, with no fortune to endow my bride ex- 
cept sorrow, danger, and ignominy. And now, Laura, now, 
I come to you with vindicated honor and with the power of 
replacing on your brow the lost coronet of Swinburne ! And 
oh! my Laura! this is a power for which I would have 
bartered — Heaven forgive me — I had nearly said my soul I 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


439 


For never did earthly saint love heavenly angel with a purer 
and more fervent love than that which my heart has lavished 
upon you from the first moment my eyes fell upon your face 
From that moment, your welfare and happiness has been my 
one aspiration — my one prayer 1 And if fortune had offered 
me a choice of her best gifts, I would, above all others, have 
chosen this privilege of restoring you to your rank and title 
— this privilege that I would have purchased with my life I 
Oh, my dear Laura 1 say that you do not value the old 
barony less now that you receive it from me, than when you 
believed it yours in your own right.” 

“ No, no, I value it a thousand times more as your gift I I 
• love to owe every thing to yon. But is this all true, beyond 
doubt ?” inquired Laura. 

“Beyond the possibility of doubt. I have the names and 
addresses of the minister who married my parents, the 
physician who attended my mother, the chaplain who 
baptized me, the nurse who took care of me, the guardian 
who succeeded her, and, finally, I have the personal evidence 
of Colonel Hastings.” 

“Oh, how does Colonel Hastings justify his long silence as 
to your position and rights ?” 

“ He does not even attempt to justify it. If ever I saw a 
man broken down by disappointment, sorrow and remorse, it 
is Hastings. He was not naturally a very bad man, but a 
" very haughty and ambitious one, and he was tempted by the 
prospect of a great fortune, and the reversion of an old 
barony to his own family.” 

They were interrupted by a rap at the door. Cassinove, 
or Lord Etheridge, as we must now call him, opened it. 

Mrs. Maberly stood there to inquire whether “ her ladyship,” 
as she had never ceased to call Laura, would have breakfast 
served in her chamber, and whether Mr. Cassinove would join 
the family at the breakfast-table. He replied that he would 
g breakfast with his lady, 'f they pleased ; and soon after an 
elegant little breakfast was served in their room. 

At noon that day Lord and Lady Etheridge sought an 
interview with the Duke and Duchess of Beresleigh. They 
met in the library, and when the doors were closed and they 


440 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


had seated themselves around the central writing-table, Lord 
Etheridge laid before the Duke of Beresleigh a packet of 
documents that he requested him to examine. 

The duke, in some surprise, took up the packet, and looked 
over the papers carefully one by one. Rose, entirely ignorant 
of what was to come, awaited in perplexity the issue of the 
investigation. 

Ferdinand and Laura anxiously watched the countenance 
of the duke, which, as he picked up and read one document 
after another, exhibited much astonishment, but not a shade 
of grief or displeasure. When he had finished and laid down 
the last one, he arose, with a cheerful smile, and extending 
his hand across the table to Cassinove, shook hands with him 
cordially, saying : 

“ Let me be the first to congratulate you upon your acces- 
sion to your title. Lord Etheridge.” Then turning to his 
astonished wife, he continued : “And let me congratulate you, 
also, my dearest Rose, for you have gained a brother. Fer- 
dinand, embrace your sister, while I salute my dear sister- 
in-law.” 

And going around the table to Laura, he took her hand, 
and kissed her cheek, saying : 

“ I wish you a long enjoyment of your recovered posses- 
sions, my dear sister.” 

Rose, who had received the embrace of her brother, now 
turned and threw herself in the arms of Laura, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, my dearest, I am so, so happy ! happier than I have 
ever been in my life before, for I always felt like the usurper 
of your rights.” Then suddenly remembering that the vast 
estates gained by Ferdinand and Laura were lost to the Duke 
of Beresleigh, Rose turned pale, dropped the hand of her 
friend, and walked away to the distant window. 

The duke instinctively surmising the cause of her agitation, 
svent after her, and putting his arm around her waist, drew 
her to his side, saying tenderly : 

“ How is this, my darling Rose ? What distresses you 

“ Oh, Beresleigh, it is as I said : I always said that my 
possession of the Swinburne estates would be transient; and 
when Colonel Hastings threatened to produce the rightful 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


441 


heir, I more than half believed that he could do so ; ind even 
sometimes thou<?ht that the alleged heir might be the son of 
my father’s first marriage with that beautiful girl that he took 
to the Continent. And even so you see it has proved.” 

“ Well, sweet Rose, are you not very glad that this son 
proves to be our young friend Ferdinand, the husband of our 
dear Ijaura, who is by this means once more in possession of 
her rank and title ?” 

“ Oh, yes ! as far as I am concerned, I am, or I should bo 
very, very happy ; but oh, Beresleigh, to think that ]/ou, 
when you supposed you had married a richly-dowered bar- 
oness, had wedded only a penniless maiden !” 

But the very sweetest maiden that ever was made a wife ; 
and the loveliest wife that ever man was blest with ! Sweet 
Rose ! dear Rose ! could you believe that any circumstance 
could make me prize and love you less? No, darling of my 
heart and eyes, you are and over must be to your husband a 
treasure beyond price,” said the duke, with deep emotion. 

Rose turned on him a smile radiant with gratitude and joy. 

“Besides, dearest, you are very far from having been the 
penniless bride you described. You surely forget that you 
are, in the right of your mother, still the possessor of Laurel 
Hall, in Norfolk, and Forest Park, in Kent, two estates that, 
taken together, are quite equal in value to Swinburne.” 

“ Oh, so I am ! I had quite forgotten that my mother’s 
estates must descend to me. I had taken it for granted that, 
as the inheritance came to- me as a whole, it must go from 
me undivided. Oh, I am very glad I have my mother’s for- 
tune for you, dear Beresleigh ; for now I can rejoice freely 
with dear Laura and Ferdinand.” 

“Then come and rejoice with them at once, dearest. And 
let us have some champagne, and drink the health of the new 
Baron and Baroness Etheridge,” said the duke, drawing her 
arm witliin his, and leading her back to the table, where they 
rejoined Laura and Ferdinand. 

One week from that 'day, a large party was assembled in 
the sumptuous library at Beresleigh House. It consisted of 
the Duchess Dowager and the young Duke and Duchess of 
Beresleigh, the Baron and Baroness Etheridge, the widowed 


m 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Lady Lester, and her son, Sir Ruthven, Colonel Hastings, 
and lastly, poor Ruth Russel. 

They were brought together by a common interest in the 
confession of Robert Thugsen, through whose atrocious 
crimes nearly every one present had deeply suffered. 

The confession of a notorious criminal is not a pleasant 
subject for review in detail. Yet it is due to the reader to 
throw some little light upon the early career of this man. 

Robert Thugsen was the unacknowledged son of a noble- 
man in one of the central counties of England, and had a legal 
right only to his mother’s family name. His father had pur- 
chased him a commission in the army, where the hereditary 
vices of the young man rapidly developed themsel'^es in a 
career of profligacy which ended in his dismissal from the 
service. 

' Disgraced and impoverished, but still handsome and fasci- 
nating, he eloped with the only daughter and heiress of a 
wealthy manufacturer in Leeds. The deeply-wronged father 
sent his erring daughter a thousand pounds, but refused ever 
afterwards to see her or her profligate husband, and dying 
two years afterwards, left the whole of his propert}^ to his 
patron. Colonel Hastings. Captain Thugsen having spent 
his wife’s small dower, and being disappointed of the fortune, 
and weary of the woman whom he had married only for her 
money, soon abandoned his wife and children, leaving them 
in obscure lodgings in London, and betaking himself to the 
fashionable watering-places, where his handsome person, 
fascinating manners, and ready cunning, enabled him to get 
on in certain sets. 

At these places he always passed as a single man, and upo?i 
occasion changed his name. It was at Brighton that his first 
real passion led him into his first great crime. 

Here he first met the family of Sir Vincent Lester, and 
VI ith them Mrs. Ravenscroft, a young and beautiful widow, 
the sister of the baronet. She was known to be engaged to 
Lord Earlington, an old and broken-down bachelor, whose 
enormous unincumbered fortune had tempted her family into 
persuading her to accept his proposals of marriage. From 
the uu'inent Captain Thugsen met Mrs. Ravenscroft, he re- 


THE BRIDAL EVE, 


443 


solved to win her love. The circumstance of his own mar- 
riage seemed of no more importance than the fact that she 
was the betrothed of another. Indeed, to a man of Captain 
Thugsen’s disposition, those impediments only added zest to 
the pursuit of the lady. In a word, he won the passionate 
love of this modern Helen. The lovers met in secret, and 
took long walks on the loneliest part of the beach. 

Thugsen urged her to fly with him to the Continent, but 
Helen was scarcely prepared for such a desperate measure. 
She said that if Lord Earlington were only out of the way, she 
would consent to become the Wife of Thugsen. She never 
dreamed of the deep depravity that could put a fatal con- 
struction upon her words, and dare to obey their supposed 
meaning. At this time Lord Earlington, whose suspicions 
had been aroused, wrote a civil note to Thugsen, requesting 
the latter to afford him a private interview at his earliest con-- 
venience. Thugsen smiled with demoniac pleasure at the 
receipt of this note, and wrote a reply, requesting Lord 
Earlington to meet him at sunset in a certain secluded 
coombe in the downs. 

Lord Earlington kept the tryst, and Thugsen, awaiting 
him in that solitary spot, sprang upon him, and buried a dag- 
ger to the hilt in his breast, and it was only then, from the 
lips of the dying man, Thugsen learned that Lord Earlington 
was his father, who, in a late repentance, had sought that 
interview with the purpose of acknowledging his son, yield- 
ing up Helen to the latter, and endowing the young couple 
with a portion of his large fortune. 

Transfixed with horror, Thugsen could only stand and 
gaze upon the face of his dying parent until he was aroused 
by the appearance of Sir Vincent Lester, who, having 
followed the hounds all day, just chanced upon this ren- 
counter. 

The baronet, who saw at a glance what had happened, 
and who, indeed, had been a witness to a part of the con- 
versation. summoned Thugsen to surrender, and accompany 
him oack to the town. But Thugsen sprang into his saddle, 
and fled with the sin of parricide blackening his soul ! 

With the after-part of this criminal’s career, the reader is 
already acquai ted 


444 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


Sir Vincent had the body of the murdered peer conveyed 
to Brighton, where, upon his person, was found the note of 
Captain Thugsen summoning him to the fatal tryst. Helen 
Ilavenscroft was informed of the death of Lord Earlington, 
by the hand of Captain Thugsen, and though she never 
knew the relationship thitt existed between the murderer and 
his victim, and that her lover’s soul was blackened by the 
awful crime of parricide, yet from hearing of the crime, and 
the flight of Thugsen, she lost her reason, thougli, alas ! she 
never lost her mad passion for the criminal. With the cun- 
ning of partial insanity, she listened until she learned that 
her brother possessed the note of Thugsen that had summoned 
Lord Earlington to the meeting. With the cunning of the 
maniac, she watched her opportunity, and stole this note, 
and awaited until she found a way^f putting it into the 
possession of Thugsen, which.c^she -did by throwing it to him 
from the carriage-window while she was driving in the 
park. 

Upon learning this fact, Sir Vincent Lester had deemed it 
expedient to enlighten the unhappy woman upon two points 
— firstly, that he himself was the witness of Thugsen’s 
crime; secondly, that the crime was ^ot ordinary murder, 
but damning parricide! Upon hearing this awful disclosure, 
Helen became a raving maniac, and was conveyed to a 
lunatic asylum, where she soon after died. 

These facts were gathered, partly from the confession of 
Thugsen, and partly from the statements of the parties present 
vn the library. 

Several practical goods resulted from these disclosures: 
first, Colonel Hastings refunded to Ruth Russel, or Mrs. Thug 
sen, as she should be called, the property of her hither ; sec- 
ondly, the proven fact of Thugsen’s first marriage showed his 
attempted second marriage to be an imposture, and vindicated 
the honor of the young Duchess of Beresleigh. 

The trial before the House of Lords might have been ar- 
rested, but the friends of the young duchess deemed, at least 
investigation of that affair by that high tribunal essential to 
the triumph of right. Consequently, upon the appointed day 
the trial came off, and 'esulted, as every one foresaw, in the 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


445 


triumphant vindication of the fair fame of the Duchess of 
Beresleigh ; for the decision of the peers was accompanied by 
the strongest censure of the parties who had charged her 
grace upon such trivial grounds, and the highest eulogium 
upon the character of the young duchess as it had been re- 
vealed to them through the investigation. 

'rhus the result of that trial was a most triumphrmt vindi- 
cation of the honor of the Duchess of Beresleigh. 

Lord and Lady Etheridge had only remained to sec the end 
of this investigation, and to congratulate their sister and 
orother upon its happy conclusion, before they set out upon 
a late bridal tour over the Continent. 

They were absent three months, and at the end of that 
time they returned to England, and sent their servants 
down in advance to prepare for their reception at Swinburne 
Castle. 

The people of Svvinburne, let it now be confessed, had 
never been reconciled to the change of local djmasty that had 
given them the laundress’s daughter as their liege lady. They 
had never believed in the 'claims of Rose, and had always 
looked upon her as an usurper. 

When, therefore, the servants of their own Lady Etheridge 
arrived at the Etherid Jb Arms with the intelligence that their 
lord and lady were coming down to the castle, nothing could 
exceed the joy of the villagers and tenantry. 

The same group that h«d ascpmbled two years before at 
the Etlieridge Arms to see me arrival of the coach that was 
to bring the bridegroom, who was about to marry their lady, 
gathered once more in the tap-room, to get all the news 
they could from the servants, who had stopped there for re- 
freshment on their way to the castle, whither they were bound 
to prepare for the reception of the baron and baroness, who 
W(ue coming next week. 

'I'here was the village smith, and the old laborer from 
Swinburne Chase, and the old cashiered groom, and all the 
otiiers. 

And none there were so poor that they could not invest a 
uixpence in drinking the health of their beloved lady, whom 
they quite regarded in the light of a restored queen. 


446 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 


And there were none so niggardly as not to spend thei* 
money and labor in adorning and illuminating the village for 
the reception of the happy pair who were coming to reside 
among them. 

So that the next week when the Baron and Baroness Ether- 
idge of Swinburne entered their feudal village, it was with 
the state of a king and queen entering their capital city, amid 
the parade of the county militia, under a triumphal arch 
formed of evergreens, and over a road str<?wn with flowers 
by the village maidens, who stood each side the way singing 
a joyous epithalamium. 




Mrs. E min a D. E. N. Sontliwortli’s New Book. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; 

ofi, rose: e:i:.imce:r. 

BY MBS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

One Volume, Square 12mo. Paper Cover. Price Seven ty-flve Cents. 


“ The Bridal Eve : or. Rose Elmer," one of Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth' s best and most 
thrilling love stories, is just published by T. B. Peterson 6 ^ Brothers, Philadelphia, in their square 
i 2 mo. form that has become so popular among all novel readers. Mrs. Southivorth confessedly over- 
shado7vs every other American fiction writer, and there has long been a demand for her novels at a 
price within the reach of all. This demand is now met by the issuing of ‘‘The Bridal for 

the small sum of seventy five cents a cofy. Of course, this really excellent and absorbing romance 
will meet with an extended sale in its present shape, and it is needless to say that all who read it 
will find in it ample food for both wonder and admiration. The story has great strength and in- 
genuity, while every one of the many stirring incidents with which it is croiuded has a charm and 
an excitement peculiarly its own. The scene is laid chiefly in London. There are two heroines, both 
noble specimens of womanhood, whose trials and adventures cannot fail to rivet attention and excite 
sympathy. A nobleman is murdered, and an innocent man is nearly brought to the gallotvs for the 
crime. Faithful lovers suffer for the misdeeds of faithless ones, while plotters do their best to sac- 
rifice others for their own profit. ‘‘ The Bridal Eve ” is a marvel of inventive skill. 


COMPLETE LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 

Mrs. SoiitJnuorth' s Works are complete in forty-three volumes, bound in morocco clotky 
gilt back, library style, price }$i.75 each, or ^75.25 a set, each set in a neat box. 

Ishmael ; or, In the Depths. Being “ Self-Made.” 

Self-Raised ; or, From the Depths. Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 


The Fortune Seeker. 

The Lost Heiress. 

Tried for Her Life. 

Gruel as the Grave. 

The Maiden Widow. 

The Family Doom. 

The Bride s Fate. 

The Changed Brides. 

Fair Play. 

How He Won Her. 

Victor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

The Spectre Lover. 

The Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. 

The Widow’s Son. 

The Bride of Llewellyn. 

The Fatal Secret. 

The Bridal Eve. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 


The Fatal Marriage. 

The Deserted Wife. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linlithgow. 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; or, the Secret of Power. 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife’s Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homestead. 

The Lady of the Isle. 

Allworth Abbey. 

Retribution. 

The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow. 
The Phantom Wedding. 


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Norston’s Rest, 

....$1 

75 

The Siddi<*rs’ Orphans, 

$1 

75 

Bertha’s Engasement, 

1 

75 

A^’ohle Woman, 

1 

75 

Bellehood and Bondage,.... 

1 

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1 

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1 

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Palaces ar\d Prisons, 

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1 

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1 

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1 

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1 

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All For Love, 1 75 


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Who Shall be V'ictor? 1 75 

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Miss Le.slie’s Cook Book, a Complete Manual to Domestic Cookery 


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The Queen of the Kitchen; or. The Southern Cook Book. Con- 
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The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 75 

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Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million Cloth, 1 75 


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The Household of Bouverie,.... T 75 Sea and Shore, 1 75 

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I3HMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS. (Being “Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.**^ 
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1 HE PHAIM i GIVI Vi/EDDING ; or, the Fall of the House of Flint, 

THE “ MOrHER-i.M-LAW ;” or, MARRIED IN HASTE. 

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THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or, The Brothers. 

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THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 

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THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or. The Bride of an Evening. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day, 

THE THREE BEAUTIES ; or, SHANNONDALE. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or. The Children of the Islo. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TVYO SISTERS; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. THE CURSE Of CLIFTON 
THE WIDOW’S SON: or, LEFT ALONE, THE WIFE’S VICTORY 
THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLO'W. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVIA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 


THE SPECTRE LOVER, 
THE ARTIST'S LOVE. 
THE FATAL SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 


BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. THE DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION 

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WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss Mulnck. Every Lady wants it 
TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY; or, Is It Love, or. False Pride? 

THE STORY OP “ELIZABETH.” By Mis-i Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
FLIRTATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catha.ine Sinclair. 

THE MATCHMAKER. A Socieiy Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. Full of freshness and truth. 
ROSE DOUGLAS, The Bonnie Scotch Ijass, A Omip mion to “ Family Pride.” 
✓^THE EARL’S SECRET. A Chanuing and Sentimental Love St ry. By Mi.ss Pardoe. 
FAMILY SECRETS. A Companion to “Family I’ride,” and a very fascinating work. 

THE MACDERMOTS OP BALLYCLORAN. An Exci.ing Novel hy Anthony Trollope. 
THE FAMILY SAVE- ALL With Economical Receipts for Breakfast, Dinner and Tea. 
/SELP-SACRIPICE. A Cii'anniug and Exciting W'ork. By author of “ Margaret Maitland.” 
■^THE PRIDE OP LIFE. A Love Story. By Lady' .lane Scott, 
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/ THE CLYPPARDS OP CLYPPE. By James Payn, author of “ Lo.st Sir ^lassingbeid.” 

\ THE ORPHAN’S TRIALS ; or. Alone im a Great City. By Emersnu Bennett. 

A THE HEIRESS OP SWEETWATER. A Love Storj', abounding with exciting scenes. 

, THE REFUGEE. A delightful bo"k, full of food for laughter, and sterling information. 

'’f/ LOST SIR MASSINGBERD. A Love Story. By author of “ The Clyflfards of Clyffe.” 
i CORA BELMONT; or, THE SINCERE LOVER. A True Story of the Heart. 

^ THE LOVER’S TRIALS; or. The Days Before the Revolution. By Mrs, Denison. 
MY SON’S WIPE. A strong, bright, interesting and charming Novel. By author ot “ Caste.’'* 
AUNT PATTY’S SCRAP BAG. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, aiitlior of “ Linda,” “Rena.” 
SARATOGA! AND THE FAMOUS SPRINGS. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. 


.COUNTRY QUARTERS. A Charming Love Story. By the CountesS of Blessington. 
SELF-LOVE. A Book for Young Ladies, with their prospects in Single and Married Life contrasted. 
THE DEVOTED BRIDE; or, FAITH AND FIDELITY. A Ix)ve Story. 

THE HEIRESS IN THE FAMILY. By author of “ Marrying for Money.” 

THE LIFE OP EDW^IN FORREST. By Colley Cibber. With Reminiscences. 

THE MAN OP THE W^ ORLD. This is full of style, elegance of diction, and force of thought. 
OUT OF THE DEPTHS. A Woman's Story and a M'onian's Bwk, the >tory of a Woman’s Life, 
THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE ; or. The Price of a Crcwn. A Roni.ance of Don Juan. 
SIX NIGHTS W^ITH THE AVASHINGTONIANS. By T. S. Arthur. Illustrated. 
THE RECTOR’S WIPE; or, THE VALLEY OP A HUNDRED FIRES. 
THE COQUETTE; or, LIFE AND LETTERS OP ELIZA WHARTON. 
WOMAN’S WRONG. A Book for Women. By Mrs. Eiloart. A Novel of great power. 
H4.REM LIFE IN EGYPT AND CONSTANTINOPLE. By Emmeline Lott. 
THE OLD PATROON ; or, THE GREAT VAN BROEK PROPERTY. 
NANA. By Emile Zola. GAMBLING EXPOSED. By.J H. Green. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola. WOODBURN GRAN'GE. ByW. Iloaitt 

DREAM NUMBERS. By T. A. Trollope. THE CAVALIER. By G. P. R. James. 
LOVE AND DUTY, By Mrs. Ilubback. ONE POEl ANOTHER. By II. Morfonl 
A LONELY LIFE. SHOULDER-STRAPS. By H. .Morford. ' 

THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW. TREASON AT HOME. PANOLA 


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NORSTON’S REST. THE REIGNING BELLE. 

BERTHA’S ENGAGEMENT. MARRIED IN HASTE. 

BELLEHOOD AND BONDAGE; or, Bought with a Price. 

LORD HOPE’S CHOICE; or, More Secrets Than One. 
THE OLD COUNTESS. Sequel to “Lord Hope’s Choice.” 

RUBY GRAY’S STRATEGY ; or. Married by Mistake. 

PALACES AND PRISONS; or. The Prisoner of the Bastile. 

A NOBLE WOMAN ; or, A Gulf Between Them. 

THE CURSE OF GOLD; or, The Bound Girl and The Wife’s Trials. 
MABEL’S MISTAKE; or,. The Lost Jewels. 

THE OLD HOMESTEAD; Or, The Pet from the Poor House. 
THE REJECTED WIFE ; or. The Ruling Passion. 

THE WIFE’S SECRET; or, Gillian. 

THE HEIRESS; or. The Gipsy’s Legacy. 

SILENT STRUGGLES; or, Barbara Stafford. 

V;iVES AND WIDOWS; or, The Broken Life. 

DOUBLY FALSE; or. Alike and Not Alike. 

THE GOLD BRICK. THE SOLDIER’S ORPHANS. 

MARY DERWENT. FASHION AND FAMINE. 

Above books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or $40.00 for a com- 
plete set of the twenty-three volumes. Copies of either one or iixore. of the above books, 
or a complete set of them, will be sent at once to any one, to any place, postage 
prepaid, or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PlnTadelphia, Pa. 


MRS. CAROLINE LEE RENTE’S WORKS. 

LIBRARY EDITION, IN MOROCCO CLOTH. 


12 Volumes, at 31.7 S Each; or 321.00 a Set. 


T. B. PETEUSOlSr & BBOTHEliS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Phila- 
delphia, have just puhlished an entire new, complete, and uniform edition of 
all the celebrated Novels ivritten by the popular American Novelist, Mrs. Car- 
oline Lee Hentz, in twelve large duodecimo volumes. They are printed on the 
finest paper, and bound in the most beautiful style, in Green Morocco cloth, 
with a new, full gilt back, and sold at the low price of $1.75 each, or $21.00 
for a full and complete set. Every Family and every Library. in this country, 
should, have in it a complete set of this new and beautiful edition of the woi'ks 
of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. The following is a complete list of 

MES, CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

LINDA; or, THE YOUNG P:L0T OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 

With a Complete Biography of. Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 
ROBERT GRAHAIVI. A Sequel to “Linda.” 

RENA; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. 

MARCUS WARLAND ; or, The Long Moss Spring. 

ERNEST LINWOOD; or, The Inner Life of the Author. 

EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE; or, The Heiress of Glenmore. 
THE PLANTER’S NORTHERN BRIDE ; or, Mrs. Hentz’s Childhood. 
HELEN AND ARTHUR; or. Miss Thusa’s Spinning-Wheel. 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or. The Joys of American Life. 
LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE LOST DAUGHTER ; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories of the Heart. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or $21. 00 /or 
a complete set of the twelve volumes. Copies of either one of the above books, or 
a complete set of them, will be sent at once to any one, to any place, postage 
pre-paid, or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter to the Publisher^ 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa. 


EMILE ZOLA’S NEW BOOKS 

The Chreatest Novels Ever Printed. 


Read what “Mrs. Lncy H. Hooper” says of “Rmile Zola’s Works,” in 
the Philadelphia Evening^ Telegpraph.” 

The immense success of Zola forms a curious feature in the literary history of this age. For he is 
not only honored by the critics, who recognize his strength, his pitiless audacity, his positive gi.nius, 
but he is the idol of all classes on account of the truthfulness of his delineations. Now 1 do not join 
with the world at large in considering Zola immoral. He is no more immoral than a physician lec- 
turing about certain phases of horror in the condition of a patient afflicted with mortal disease. 
Nobody will arise from the perusal of Zola’s books possessed with a desire to imitate the actions or to 
follow the example of his heroes and heroines. His works are not demoralizing. He never makes 
vice lovely, never paints it in alluring tints, never strews its pathway with flowers. He is simply, lit- 
erally, and pitilessly true to life in his powerful delineations. He is a French Thackeray. The talent 
of the two men — the author of Vanity Fair and the author of the Assommoir — is almost identical, 
modified in each by the conditions of their nationality and of the society for which they wrote. Place 
Thackeray in Paris, the son of Parisian parents, and Vanity Fair will become exasperated into La 
Cun'e. Transfer Zola to London, and transform him into an Englishman, and he will write The Story 
of Pendennis instead of The History of the Rougon-Macquarts. Nor are Zola’s books the epheme- 
ral productions of an hour. They are immortal because they are true. Two hundred years from now, 
historians seeking to tell, the tale of the France of the Second Empire and the Third Republic, will 
turn to Zola as to a gallery of photographs taken from the life. Zola is in literature what Holbein was 
in art. His immense hold over the sympathies of the lower orders was never more fully shown than 
since the production of the melodrama drawn from his novel of Nana, at the Ambigu. I went on 
Saturday night last, and the throng was extraordinary. And here let it be stated, once for all, that 
Nana is not an indecent play. It is superbly put upon the stage, is admirably played, and is a very 
curious and accurate study of an important phase of Parisian life. “Nana” is simply a realistic 
' “Camille.” She is a frivolous, good-hearted, conscienceless creature, and as for remorse, or aspirations 
after a purer or nobler life, such ideas never cross her brain. She holds in her vacant soul one nobler 
iustinct, and that is her love for her child. In this respect Zola has been true to life as in other details. 

LIST OF EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT WORKS. 

^'"Tlfana! The Sequel to “ L'Assommoir.” Nana! ^ Emile Zola. With a Picture oj 

Nana ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

'■ Nana'.s Motlier; or. Li'Assoinmoir. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a 
r* Picture 0/ “ Gervaise Nana’s mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth. 

Th€r6se Raciilin. By Emile Zola, &\it\\or oi “Nana.” With a Portrait 0/ Emile Zola” 
on the coz'er. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

I.a CiirCo. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar 
in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Maartlalon l^'erat. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Picture cf “Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

C'loriiida; or, Zola’s Court of Na|)olcon III. By Emile Zola, 2i\ix.\\or “Nana.” 
With a Picture of“Clorinda ” on the coz>er. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $i .25 in Cloth. 

Alhine; or. The Abl>e*s Temptation. (La Faute <le L’Abbe Mouret.) By 

Emile Zola. With a Picture of “Alhine ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

ll^ll^ne: a Love Episode; or, line Page D’Amour. By Emile Zola, author of 
“Nana.” With a Picture o/“ Helene ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Rougon-Macquart Family; or, Miette. (La Fortune des Rougon.) 

By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Conquest of Plassans; or. La Conquete de l»lassans. By Emile Zola, 
author oi“Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Markets of Paris; or, Le Ventre de ParisJ By Emile Zola, a.\ix\ior q{ 
*‘Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents everywhere, and on all Rail- 
Road Trains, or copies of any one book, or all of them, will be sent to any one, to anyplace, at once, 
mail, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

X. B. PBXEESOif & BBOTHEKS, Pliiladelpliia^ Pa. 


Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Sontliwortli’s New Book. 

SELF-MADE; 

OR, OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

BY MBS. E. D. E. N. SOUTIIWORTH, 

Is now Complete in Book Form, in Two Volumes. Price $1.75 each, or 
$3.50 a set. It is also issued under the names of 

“ISHMAEL” AND “SELF-EAISED.” 

THEY ARE TWO OF THE BEST KOVELS EVER PRINTED. 

Price $1.75 each, or $3.50 for the two, bound in Morocco Cloth. 


LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 

Airs. SotitJnvorth' s Works are complete hi forty-three volumes, bound in morocco 
cloth, with gilt back, price ^1.75 each, or $75.25 a set, each set in a neat box. 

Ishmael ; or, In the Depths. Being “ Self-Made.” 

Self-Raised ; or, From the Depths. Sequel to “ Ishmael,” 


The Fortune Seeker. 

The Lost Heiress. 

Tried for Her Life. 

Cruel as the Grave. 

The Maiden Widow. 

The Family Doom. 

The Bride s Fate. 

The Changed Brides. 

Fair Play. 

How He Won Her. 

Victor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

The Spectre Lover. 

The Prince of Darkness. 

The Christmas Guest. 

Fallen Pride. 

The Widow s Son. 

The Bride of Llewellyn. 

The Fatal Secret. 

The Bridal Eve. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 


The Fatal Marriage. 

The Deserted Wife. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linlithgow. 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy s Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; or, the Secret of Power, 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife's Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homestead. 

The Lady of the Isle. 

Allwbrth Abbey. 

Retribution. 

The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow. 
The Phantom Wedding. 


Copies of any one work, or more, or a complete set of '•'‘Mrs. SouthxvortJi s 
Works f xuill be sent to any one, to any address, at once, free of freight or postage, on 
remitting $1.75 for each one wanted, to T. B. Peterson Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


** It will save many dollars .” — Lynn ifass. Reporter, 

CHEAP EST AND BEST !^if 

petersonY¥agazine ! 


A Si^ppLKMENT wiJl be fftvm in every n'unber for 18S1, emitamirty a full-size paf/em for a 
lady's or child's (h ess. Every subscriber loiU receive, during the year, twelve tif these patterns, worth 
more, alone, than the subscription price. 


“ Petehoon’s 3Iagazixe” contains, every 3 *ear, 1000 papres. 14 steel plates, 12 colored Berlin 
patterns, 12 inaniinoth colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and about 9UO wood cuts, lis princi- 
pal eiubellisliiuents are 

Its immense circulation enables its proprietor to spend more on embellishments, stories, &c, 
than any other. Jt gives more for the money, and combines more merits, than any in the world. In 
1881, a New Feature will be introduced in the shape of a series of 

SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED ARTICLES. 

ITS TALES AND NOVELLETS 

Are the best published anywhere. All the most ponvlar writers are employed to write originally for 
*'Peterson.” In 1881 FIVB OlilGIN.AL COPYEIGHT NOVELETS will be given, by Ann S. Steiheiis, 
by Frank Lee Benedict, by Jane G. Austin, by the author of “ Josiah Allen's Wife,” and by Sidney 
Trevor. 







Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the rsuAi size, and a^e unequalled 
for beauty. They will be superbly colored Also, household and other receipts; and articles ou 
everything interesting to ladies. 


T2SRMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A YEAR. 
i9®*UN PARALLELED OFFERS TO CLUBS.-SSa 


2 Copies for $3.50 

3 “ 4.50 

4 Copies for S6.50 
u “ “ 9.00 


{ 


With a copy of the premium pirtnre ('24x20) a costly steel ennmvlvq 
“Guan’father tells » F Youktown ” or an illustrated Album, quarto, 
gilt, to the persou getting up the club. 

With an extra copy of the Magazine for 1881, as a premium, to the 
person getting up the club. 


5 Copies for $8.00 
1 “ ** 10.50 


With both an extra cop 3 ' of the Magazine for 1881, and the premium 
picture, or Album, to the persou getting up the club. 


FOB LAMQEm CLUB^ BFML GMBAfEB MBViGEMENjT ^ ! 


Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

30G Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. Pa' 


49*^p«clxattns sent gratis, if written for, to get clnhs with. 


]\lrs. Emma 2D. E. IT. Soutliwortli’s Hew Hook 


THE BHIBAL EVE; 

o£%. KOS£: E:x.jy[E:ii. 

BY MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

One Volume, Square 12iuo. Paper Cover. Price Seveiify-flve Cents. 

“The Brid.^l Eve; or, Rose Elmer” is one of Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Soiitlnvorth’s 
most powerful and absorbing novels. Mrs. Southwortli unquestionably stands at tlie 
bead of American fiction-writers, and it has long been a matter of general regret tliat, 
owing to their being cojyvright works, it was impossible to issue her universally 
admired books in cheap form. These difficulties iiaving beeti arranged, the Messrs. 
Peterson are now enabled to })ublish “The Bridal Eve” ar fSeventy-five Cents a 
copy, an excee'lingly low price that should |)!aee it in everybody’s hands. ^Irs. South- 
worth has always been a great and deserved favorite with all lovers of ^sterling and 
intensely interesting romances, and her hold upon the jmblic has strengthened year by 
year, until her ituiue has become a household word and lier popularity phenomenal, 
^he reason of this is plain. All her novels go straight to the mark, fascinating, thrill- 
ing and enchaining. There is never a prosy })aragraph, never a dull line. All is 
fresh, original, strong, ingenious and interesting. No American novelist has ever con- 
structed such plots, so deftly woven are they, so intricate and, at the same time, so 
rational and j)robable. in fact, as a })lot-maker Mrs. South worth lias no .<-uperior in 
any country. She does not, like Wilkie Collins, frame a series of impossilile compli- 
cations apparently for the jileasureof straightening out the tangled threads, but invents 
motives and causes as natural and possible when understood as inexplicalile and start- 
ling while une.xplained. v Mrs. Southworth’s invention knows no bounds. Hence all 
her romances differ radically from each other, and each is, so to s))eak, a new and stri- 
king revelation in the field of fiction. She excels, too, in individualizing her characters, 
and handles a score of personages in a tale with ease, skill and efle(*t worthy of Dickens. 
Her style of composition is as vigorous and brisk as the action of her remarkably felic- 
itous stories. “ The Brid.\i. Eve” is worthily classed anifuig her very best produc- 
tions. It is a love romance with two heroines, both of whom have faithful and faithless 
suitor«, and both of whom are members of the English aristocracy. The noble self- 
denial of Laura in surrendering the Barony of Swinburne to the beautiful cottage girl, 
Rose, whom she lielieves to be the rightful heiress, and the sweet, womanly nature of 
the latter, win the heart of the reader at the outset, and the subsequent trials and 
adventures of these true women intensify the interest excited in them. Cassinove’s 
fearful peril and his wife’s devotion to him within the shadow of the gallows are stir- 
ring features of the powerful tale, while Thugsen’s unparalleled career of crime is pic- 
tured in very vivid colors. The dissolute Prince of Wales, afterwards CJeorge IV., 
figures in the novel, and among the characters are many of the British nobility of the 
time. The scene is laid principally in London during the fashionable season, and tin 
reader is shown in turn the palace of royalty, the hovel of the poor, the rookerv of 
the criminal and the felon’s cell in Newgate. The contrasts are sharp and the succes- 
sion of thrilling incidents is almost unending, while the action never for a moment 
pauses, the interest never for an instant flags. The reader is kejit in a flutter of excite- 
ment from the beginning to the close, and, as surprise follows surprise, is lost in won- 
der as to the probable solution of the various mysteries. “The P>RiDAt> Eve” should 
be read by everybody, as, no doubt, it will be in its pre.sent popular and cheaj> shajie. 

^^''7 he Bridal Eve'^ is for sale by all Booksellers and Xetvs Agents, or copies 
of it will be sent to any one, at once, post paid, on remitting 75 cents to the publishers, 

X. B. BBXBBSOSr & BBOXMCBS, Philadelphia, Pa, 


Emma D. E. N. SoutliwortliL’s Complete Works. 


Mrs. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS 

COMPLETE IN FORTY-THREE VOLUMES. 

EACH IS IN ONE LARGE D10DECI3I0 VOLUME, MOROCCO CliOTH, GILT BACK, PRICE $1.75 EACH. 

Copies of any or all will be sent to any place, post-paid, on receipt of remittances. 

T. B. Peterson 6 ^ Brothers^ 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, have 
just issued an entire new, complete, a7id uniform edition of all the cele- 
brated works written by Mrs. Emf7ia D. E. N. Southworth, the popular 
Atnef'ican Fe7nale Authoress. It would be altogether a work of mpe 7 ‘ero- 
gation to describe the characteristics of Mrs. Southwo7'th' s style as a nov- 
elist, a7id it wouhl be profitless to a7ialyze the causes of her popularity. 
Hef position is certamly at the head of all sensatio7idl writers, a7id there 
is 710 A77ie7ica7i author now livmg whose writwgs secure stich hrmiediate 
and ge7ieral circulation. In all her works, the highest and purest senti- 
77ients are brought out mto tales of inte7ise interest, while the darker shades 
of life are used Only as lessons of instructio7i, or to offset the more ivinning 
characters she creates. There is also m her works great 07 -iginality of 
character, fi7ie descriptive powers, stra7ige a7id startling i7icide7its, stirring 
adve7itures, scenes of pathos, and pages that quicken the pulses and thrill 
the Juart with biterest and al77iost pam ; as well as great mgenuity m 
the constructio7i of her plots, and in the ptu'e 77ioral tone which character- 
izes all her writ mgs. Her novels are all full of the siro7igest interest — 
exciting to the verge of se7isaiionalism, yet contam 7iothi7ig to offend eve7i 
the 77wst fastidious delicacy. The de7na7td for all of Mrs. Southworth' s 
laorks, at the libi'aries, contmues, a7id their mmtense circulatio7i shows that 
she is one of the 7nost popular novelists of this ce7itury. This new edition 
is in duodecmw for7n, is prmted on the finest of paper, is co77iplete in forty- 
three volimies, a7id each volume is boimd in 77iorocco cloth, with a full gilt 
back, and is sold at $1.^^ a vohmie, or 2 ^ for a full a7id co77iplete 
set, put up m a neat box. Every Fa77iily, and every Library m this Coim- 
try, should have in it a set of this 7iew a7id beautiful editio7t of the works 
of this talented American Authoress, Mrs, E77ima f). E. N. Southworth. 

Copies of any one W07'k, or more, or a complete set of ^‘Mrs. 
Southworth' s Works," will be sent to any one, to a7ty address, at once, free 
of freight or postage, 07t re77iitti77g ^ 1.75 for each one wanted, to the 
Publishers, T. B. Peterso7i 6 ^ Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 

S^A C 07 nplete list of all of Mrs. Southworth' s work^ will be sent to 
a 7 ty one, post-paid, on their sefidmg for it to the Publishers, 

Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Hxuma D. £. N. Soutliwortli’s Complete Works. 


Mrs. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS 

COMPLETE IN FORTY-THREE VOLUMES. 

EACH IS IX ONE LARGE DUODECDIO VOLUME, CLOTH, GILT, AT $1.75 EACH, OR $75.25 A SET. 
Copies of any one or all will be sent to any one, post-paid, on receipt of remittances. 


Mrs. Southworth' s works have become very popular, and they have great merits as fiction, for she 
has %vritten many good novels for the fireside, and furnished an amazing fund of pure and healthy 
entertainment to thousands of readers that have been, and to many thousands more to cojne. The 
great secret of her hold upon her readers is, after' her inventive gejiius, in framing the plots of her 
stories, and in the brisk and wide-awake jtianner in which all the details are executed. There is no 
time for listlessness, every move7nent is animated ; atid she is not 07ily a popular aiid entertainuig 
author, but a ifioral one, as she inculcates propriety, both by precept and by the example of her 
characters, which are calculated to do good to all readers. Her works should be read by all, for 
there is not a dull line in any of thetn, and they are full of thrilling and sta^'tlhig mterest. Her 
characters are drawn with a strong ha7td, a7id actually appear to live and 77iove before us. Prob- 
ably 7to writer, 77ta7i or wo7nan, in A7nerica, is as popular, or has so wide a circle of readers a has 
Mrs. Southworth. Her stories are ahvays full of thrilling interest to lovers of the sens .tio7ial, 
a7id for literary merit they rank far above the works of a7iy author or atithoress of works of their 
class. Mrs. Southworth\s stories have won their high place by her ability , and any thhig with which 
her name is ide7itified is certain to 77ieet with hearty approvcU. The following are their 7ia77ies. 


LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 

Ishmael ; or, In the Depths. Being “ Self-Made.” 
Self-Raised ; or, From the Depfths. Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 
The Fortune Seeker. 


The Lost Heiress. 

Tried for Her Life. 

Cruel as the Grave. 

The Maiden Widow. 

The Family Doom. 

The Bride’s Fate. 

The Changed Brides. 
a Fair Play. 

How He Won Her. 

Victor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

The Spectre Lover. 

The Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. ^ 

1 The Widow’s Son. 

\ The Bride of Llewellyn. 
MThe Fatal Secret, 
n The Bridal Eve. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 


si The Fatal Marriage. 

The Deserted Wife. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linlithgow. 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; or, the Secret of Power. 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife’s Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homestead. 

The Lady of the Isle. 

Allworth Abbey. 

Retribution. 

1 The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow. 
The Phantom Wedding. 


Copies of any one work, or 77iore, or a coinplete set of *‘Mrs. Southwoi't/i’s 
IVorks,^’ wilt be sent to atty one, to any address, at otice, free of freight or postage, on 
remitting ^ 1.75 for each one wanted, to T. B. Peterson Cp Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BliOTHEKS, Philadelphia, Pa. 





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